CLAIRE’s CHOCOLATE MOUSSE

4 one-ounce squares of semisweet chocolate, cut into chunks

3 eggs, separated

1 tsp vanilla

¾ tsp cream of tartar

½ cup sugar

1½ cups chilled whipping cream, separated

Avoid the hotter issues with the man in your life by heating the chocolate in a 2-quart saucepan over low heat, stirring occasionally. When the chocolate is melted, remove pan from heat. In a separate bowl, beat egg yolks slightly, then stir yolks and vanilla into chocolate.

In a separate bowl (make him wash the dishes!), beat the egg whites and cream of tartar until foamy. Beat in sugar, a tablespoon at a time. Stir ¼ of the meringue into the chocolate mixture, then gently fold the rest in.

Take out frustrations by beating 1 cup of whipping cream in a chilled bowl until stiff. Fold into the chocolate mixture. Divide evenly among bowls, making sure you leave enough in mixing bowl to taste the mousse—to ensure it’s perfect, of course.

Beat remaining whipping cream, but don’t get too distracted by thoughts of a sexy dark-haired man and end up overbeating it. Carefully drop dollops on each bowl of mousse. Refrigerate at least two hours before sharing with someone delectable.

Dear Reader,

Discover a guilt-free way to enjoy this holiday season. Treat yourself to four calorie-free, but oh-so-satisfying brand-new Silhouette Romance titles this month.

Start with Santa Brought a Son (#1698) by Melissa McClone. This heartwarming reunion romance is the fourth book in Silhouette Romance’s new six-book continuity, MARRYING THE BOSS’s DAUGHTER.

Would a duty-bound prince forsake tradition to marry an enchanting commoner? Find out in The Prince & the Marriage Pact (#1699), the latest episode in THE CARRAMER TRUST miniseries by reader favorite Valerie Parv.

Then, it’s anyone’s guess if a wacky survival challenge can end happily ever after. Join the fun as the romantic winners of a crazy contest are revealed in The Bachelor’s Dare (#1700) by Shirley Jump.

And in Donna Clayton’s The Nanny’s Plan (#1701), a would-be sophisticate is put through the ringer by a drop-dead gorgeous, absentminded professor and his rascally twin nephews.

So pick a cozy spot, relax and enjoy all four of these tender holiday confections that Silhouette Romance has cooked up just for you.

Happy holidays!

Mavis C. Allen

Associate Senior Editor

The Bachelor’s Dare
Shirley Jump

www.millsandboon.co.uk

To Jeff, and the memories of all those long car rides between Massachusetts and Indiana. I fell in love with you sometime between the first toll booth and the last exit.

Books by Shirley Jump

Silhouette Romance

The Virgin’s Proposal #1641

The Bachelor’s Dare #1700

SHIRLEY JUMP

has been a writer ever since she learned to read. She sold her first article at the age of eleven and from there, became a reporter and finally a freelance writer. However, she always maintained the dream of writing fiction, too. Since then, she has made a full-time career out of writing, dividing her time between articles, non-fiction books and romance. With a husband, two children and a houseful of pets, inspiration abounds in her life, giving her good fodder for writing and a daily workout for her sense of humor.

SURVIVE AND DRIVE CONTESTANTS

* Mark Dole: confirmed bachelor, used to work with his brother, Luke, in a software design company in California, but has never forgotten the girl next door, Claire

* Claire Richards: former hairdresser, knows Mark from childhood and doesn’t intend to play fair in the contest—or in love

* Millie and Lester: a retired couple given to power shakes and napping, determined to win the RV, even if they have to resort to threats with knitting needles

* Danny: football fan whose sole interest is the TV in the RV

* Roger and Jessica: newlyweds who haven’t consummated their vows yet, so watch out—they’re a bit on edge

* Art and Gracie: friends of Millie and Lester’s who double as canasta partners when life on the RV gets slow

* Renee Angelo: a former high school classmate of Mark and Claire’s who supposedly is winning the RV for her grandma…or is it grandpa?

* Tawny: a makeup counter salesgirl who spends her days polishing her nails

* John Madison: a dad of two who wants the RV to go to Disneyland

* Aaron Jefferson: a doctor with a constantly beeping pager

* Milo Otis: a tired security guard

* Adele Williams: a teller at Lawford City Bank with a deadline

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Epilogue

Chapter One

Claire Richards ran her hand along the sleek exterior, the smooth metal gliding beneath her palm. If only men were this well-equipped. And this useful.

Her fingers slipped down the glossy surface, up and over the body ridges. Perfect. Absolutely perfect. Now all she had to do was win the forty-five-foot-long beast. She’d worry about wrangling it down the highway later.

The shadow of the massive cream-and-burgundy Deluxe Motor Homes RV dwarfed Claire, even though she was five-foot-nine. The house on wheels had plenty of space for the bedroom, kitchen and living room, the sign advertised. Perfect, she repeated. A house and a getaway car all in one. She needed both—and the sooner the better. She’d made a promise and didn’t have a lot of time left to keep it. Not nearly enough time.

But getting out of Mercy, Middle-of-Nowhere, Indiana, was about more than keeping a promise. No matter what, Claire was going to make the new start she needed. She’d given notice at the beauty shop, tucked most of her belongings into storage, and scraped up enough savings to fund her move. When Claire Richards leapt off a cliff, she did it without hesitation and without a safety net.

In the back of her mind, a tiny doubt whispered that changing her life was about more than physical distance. Claire quickly pushed the thought away.

The RV was her ticket to a new life in California and to the only family she had left. She gave the motor home a final pat, then crossed to the registration table.

“Is this where I sign up for a chance to win the RV?”

A cheerleader from Mercy High turned a clipboard toward Claire and handed her a pen. The girl had dark, bouncy hair and a thousand-watt smile that must have cost three dollars a watt at the orthodontist’s. She wore a blue-and-white uniform and white sneakers. Change her hair to blond and she could have been Claire at that age.

“There’s, like, a million people signed up and only, like, the first twenty get on.” The girl gestured toward a board of rules. The number 20 shouted back at Claire, bold and big. “The contest starts Sunday. Try to be, like, early, and bring all your stuff.” The cheerleader dipped her head and started filing her nails.

For a fleeting second, Claire felt like grabbing the girl’s hand and telling her not to forgo a college education, not to put her faith in some silly boy who would end up working in the steel mill because his father worked there and jobs were inherited along with the family cowlick. She wanted to tell Go-Team-Go Gidget to get out of Mercy while she still had a chance. Or she’d find herself at twenty-eight, still single, stuck in this town and desperate enough to sign up for the September “Survive and Drive” contest at the mall.

Hoping for the opportunity to win back the freedom and hope she’d had in abundance at eighteen.

“Ma’am?”

That word jarred Claire back to reality. When had she gone from being a “miss” to a “ma’am”? Had there been some road sign she’d missed? You are now entering middle age. It’s all downhill from here.

“Ma’am?” The girl said again. Her emery board stilled. “Did you, like, want to sign up?”

“Yes, yes.” Claire scribbled her name on the sheet, then handed it to the girl. She circled the RV again, working on a strategy. There would be nearly two dozen people fighting for the vehicle. She’d better start humming the theme song to Rocky. She’d need to prepare for a long haul inside this house on wheels, competing with a bunch of strangers, or worse, people she actually knew.

“I wouldn’t mind being stuck inside an RV with a beauty like you,” said a deep voice Claire recognized.

Mark Dole, brother to Nate, Jack, Luke and Katie. A man Claire knew too well. The Doles had been neighbors of Claire’s nearly all her life. Ever since they’d been kids, Mark and Claire had fought and played like brother and sister. One day, they’d be friends making sand castles and the next, they’d be slinging mud balls at one other. Two hot-tempered people who brought out the worst in each other.

Claire turned around. “Hi, Mark.”

He had the same slightly wavy hair she remembered, dark brown with a hint of golden highlights, like some sun god. He was athletic, muscular but not bulky, and had been blessed with brilliant blue eyes that seemed to bore right through a girl. Mark Dole was the closest thing Mercy had to a Calvin Klein cover model. A man like him—gorgeous and full of pickup lines—should come with a warning label.

“Claire! I didn’t know that was you. I thought—” She saw him cut off the sentence before he said something stupid such as he’d mistaken her for someone he stood a chance with.

That would never happen. Once, Claire’s best friend Jenny, who was dating Nate Dole, had thought it would be fun to double with Claire and Mark. The results had been disastrous. The boy who’d dipped her ponytail in blue tempera paint in third grade hadn’t become boyfriend material. They’d clashed on everything from the movie choice to the popcorn tub size. They’d ended up with their own buckets, sitting on the far flanks of Jenny and Nate.

“What are you doing here?” Claire asked.

“I’m signing up for the competition. I’m going to outlast all the other poor suckers and win this baby for myself.” He gave the hull a self-assured pat.

He was the epitome of all the men she’d vowed to avoid. Men full of sweet lines and sexy words, but lacking considerably in substance and permanence. Men who wouldn’t just break her heart—they’d feed the pieces to a shredder.

One of Claire’s close friends, Leanne Hartford, had learned that firsthand after dating Mark for two months, falling half in love with him, and then being unceremoniously dumped just before the senior prom. Claire had never forgotten—nor forgiven—Mark’s insensitive end to the relationship.

Claire forced herself not to gag. “Poor suckers?”

“Well, the other people who signed up. There’s probably only a few anyway.”

“Try closer to, like, a million.” She did her best to mimic the cheerleader. “Only the first twenty get on.” She pointed out the sign.

He blinked. “That many?”

“A contest like this is a major deal in Mercy. Plus, it’s a chance at a free ride out of small-town life. You’d have to be nuts not to gamble on it.” Claire had done more than take a chance, but she didn’t tell Mark.

He considered that a moment, then looked at her. Those cobalt eyes had probably made a lot of women’s hearts beat faster, but Claire was not impressed. Eyes were eyes, even if they were an almost electric color. “What about you?”

“My name’s already on the list.”

“Oh.” He nodded, then flicked a thumb at the RV. “So, you think you can outlast me?”

“I know I can.”

“Want to bet?”

“Sure. Twenty bucks says I win this thing.”

“Sounds fair.” He grinned. “I bet you’re out of there on the first day.”

She let out a chuff of disbelief. “You won’t last the first night. Remember, you’ll be sharing a bathroom and a mirror.”

He clutched his heart. “Oooh, that’s low. You wound me, Claire.”

Despite everything, Claire laughed. If there was one talent Mark had always had, it was the ability to make her laugh. “Hey, if those arrows work, I have a million more, baby.” She crossed her arms over her chest and shifted her weight into fighter stance. “I am going to outlast you, Mark Dole. And then I’m going to drive away from this town and leave you in my dust.”

“I think you’re the one who’ll be choking on my exhaust.” He raised an eyebrow and gave her a lopsided smile. “You don’t know who you’re messing with.”

“Neither do you. Never underestimate the stubbornness of a woman.” Especially a woman with virtually everything at stake. Claire spun on her heel and started to walk away.

“Claire! You’ve forgotten one thing,” Mark called.

She stopped, pivoted back. “What?”

He pointed at her, then himself. “You. Me. Locked together in there.” He gestured toward the RV and smirked. “It could get mighty hot.”

“Yeah, I’m feeling lukewarm already.”

He stepped closer. The woodsy scent of his cologne drifted between them. On any other man, it would have been sexy, tempting, but on Mark—

“We’re not teenagers anymore, you know,” he said, the deep timbre of his voice a reminder of how far along Mark was on the male development scale. “We’re all grown up, with very grown-up desires. Knowing how stubborn both of us are, we could be in there for a very long time. Aren’t you worried such tight quarters might, ah…tempt you?”

She fanned her face à la Scarlett O’Hara. “Why Mr. Dole, I do declare, you are the most seductive thing I’ve ever seen. How will I ever keep my head on straight?”

“Cute. Very cute.” He stepped back. “We’ll see who’s the last one off the fun bus there.”

“I already know that answer. Me.” She took a step closer to him, pointing at his chest. “And remember, I don’t play fair.”

“Neither do I, Claire.” His smile reached his eyes. If she’d been any other woman, it might have made her pulse skitter. “This is going to be fun.”

From the smoldering look in his gaze, she knew he wasn’t talking about the kind of fun they’d had playing Twister when they were seven. Something in Claire’s gut coiled with heat.

Nothing a cold soda wouldn’t fix, she told herself, and walked away. Well, maybe two cold sodas.

Earsplitting buzzing, screaming bleats. In his ear. Loud, annoying, repetitive sound. Mark slapped at the nightstand, searching blindly for the source of the god-awful noise. He bumped against hard plastic and smacked it until his fingers hit the snooze button.

He cracked open an eye and glanced at the red numbers. Three in the morning. What insane person gets up that early?

He rolled back to the pillow and closed his eyes. When he did, the image of the RV flashed in his mind. He jerked upright. “I’m that insane person,” he grumbled.

The Survive and Drive contest started today. Only the first twenty got on the RV. If he didn’t haul his butt out of bed and get to the mall, he’d lose his shot.

He stumbled for the shower and didn’t bother to wait for hot water. He stripped off his boxers, stepped inside the stall and let the needles of cold water sting him awake. Two minutes of sudsing and rinsing and he was done. He rushed through the rest of his morning routine, choosing the faster electric razor over the more-precise disposable blade, skipping aftershave.

In his childhood bedroom, Mark flicked on the overhead light and got dressed in jeans and a T-shirt. Pennants from Indianapolis Colts and Pacers games hung on his walls, souvenirs of trips to the stadium with his dad. A selection of sports trophies collected cobwebs on a shelf on one wall, golden images of boys at play with footballs, hockey sticks and baseballs. A five-year-old picture of his family—Jack, Mark, Luke, Nate, Katie and their parents—sat on top of his dresser. Mark’s gaze swept over it all. He ignored one corner, though. On that wall hung a plaque etched with many words of praise for Mark Dole.

And not a single one of them was true.

He shoved enough clothes for a few days into a gym bag, tossed in some deodorant, shaving cream, a razor and his toothbrush. He added his laptop, a notebook and a few pencils, then zipped it shut, slipped into his sneakers without untying them, and headed over to Luke’s room.

His twin brother’s bedroom was in sharp contrast to his own. Luke, the more organized of the two, had already turned his space into one befitting a grown-up. The few pieces of furniture he’d moved with him from his California house seemed to bring all the remnants of what had once been a happy home into the small space. The hallway light cast a soft glow over the room, revealing a handmade quilt on the corner recliner and a series of photos on the rolltop desk Mary had given Luke on his last birthday. The photos were of happier times, before Death had made a special delivery to Luke’s door.

A sharp pang grabbed at Mark’s chest. He was twenty-nine. Too old to be playing the games of his youth. He’d outgrown the pennants, the cheers of the crowd, the adoring girls standing on the sidelines. When Mary’d died last year, Mark had seen and felt—in some special twin synergy—Luke’s grief and had suddenly known he was missing something very special. Coming home two weeks ago and being welcomed into his parents’ warm, bread-scented home told him just what that missing part was.

A home. Not an apartment empty of anything but the basic necessities of bachelorhood. Not a string of women, their names blurred into one—CherylJudyMelanie-Heather. For the first time in his life, Mark wanted a taste of what his brother had had. He was done with fast food. He wanted roast turkey with all the trimmings.

But having that meant settling down. Being responsible. Not letting Luke down and losing their business in one fell swoop. Mark wasn’t even sure he had it in him to be the kind of guy who could be counted on for a paycheck every two weeks and a retirement account.

Either way, before he thought about himself, he needed to restore Luke’s life to him—or at least the parts Mark was able to give back, which meant getting to the mall before nineteen other people did. He shook Luke awake.

“What? Go away. I’m asleep.”

“I need you to drop me off, or pick up my car later. I’m not leaving it in the mall lot. It could be there for days.”

Luke let out a string of expletives that said he’d forgotten his promise to drive. “It’s a Nova, Mark. Nobody’s going to steal a damned beater box from the seventies.”

“Hey, my car’s a classic.”

Luke rolled over and covered his head with the blankets. “Maybe it will be when disco comes back, but right now, it’s just an old car.” Luke let out a sigh. “I’ll pick it up later.”

“Thanks.”

Luke peeled back the blankets from his face and blinked several times. “You really going to try to win that thing?”

“Yep.”

“What the heck for?”

“I want to—” he stopped himself. “I want a portable house.” Not a very good lie, as lies went, but he couldn’t tell Luke the truth. Luke had been through enough this past year, more than anyone should have to endure. With any luck, Mark could fix some of that by being the last man standing in the RV.

And then, maybe he could embark on fixing his own life. First, he’d have to figure out where to start on himself, though.

Luke shrugged, pulled up the blankets again. “Wake me when it’s over.”

Mark dashed out the door, hopped into his Nova and headed across town. Mercy had been growing over the last year as people in Lawford opted to leave the city for land and quiet. The population had stretched by a couple thousand, prompting the opening of a mall, even though it only encompassed twelve stores. Still, it seemed to stay busy, especially with the summer tourists and antiquers.

When Mark arrived, he counted eighteen cars in the main parking lot, a couple in the mall employee area. Damn. How early did these people get up? Once inside, he saw a virtual campground had been set up on the cold white tile of the courtyard. Lounge chairs, beach towels, blankets, pillows. And people—nineteen of them. With the motor home beside them, the whole pristine, antiseptic scene looked like Walt Disney’s version of a campsite.

Mark settled onto the floor at the end of the line and rested his arms across his knees. On his left an elderly woman sat in one of those three-dollar folding lawn chairs. Beside her slept a nearly bald, wrinkled man. They both wore beret-style hats topped with a fat yarn pompom. The old woman was knitting, her needles clacking away in the quiet. Her husband had his head back, mouth open, loud, hock-hock-hock snores coming from his mouth.

“Why hello, sonny. I’m Millie Parsons. Are you here to win the motor home?” she asked, without missing a stitch.

“Yes, I am.”

She reached out a gnarled hand and patted his. “Good luck, dear.” She smiled nicely, then added, “but Lester and I are planning on winning it. We want to go to Florida, don’t you know.” She grinned until all her dentures showed. “And we don’t plan on losing.”

Mark smiled right back at her. “Neither do I.”

Her smile dropped away, she yanked her hand away and went back to her knitting. Click, clack, click, clack. Row after row of pink stitches. Probably making a noose for anyone who tried to outlast her and Lester.

A very unladylike curse sounded from behind him. Mark turned and saw Claire. “I’m twenty-one,” she said.

“Honey, you couldn’t pass for it,” Mark quipped. But in reality, she could. Her straight blond hair was up in a ponytail, a youthful style fitting her smooth, unlined skin. She had bright, almost emerald eyes, and a generous mouth he’d never seen without red lipstick. From ten feet away, it screamed “Kiss Me.” That is, it did to every man but Mark, who had never been her favorite male Homo sapiens.

She was one of the tallest women he knew, lean and athletic, and given to tight, bright-pink jeans and iridescent tanks that never seemed to extend past her belly button. God bless clothing designers who didn’t account for long torsos. Catching a glimpse of the creamy skin above her waistband could become his favorite pastime. She’d finished off the outfit with boots sporting three-inch heels. There was a name for shoes like that, but he wasn’t going to say it in public.

Claire didn’t seem to appreciate his lusty appraisal. In fact, she gave him a most irritated look. “I’m not talking about my age. I meant my place in line. I’ll never get on there now.”

He blew on his finger like a gunfighter who’d knocked out the competition. “Gee, that was an easy bet to win.”

Mark had always wondered what a glower looked like. He knew now—and it wasn’t pretty.

“It’s not over yet,” she said. “Some of these people might be here to keep the others company.” She dropped her large suitcase to the floor and plopped down beside it.

“Who are you? Ginger? Taking along a year’s worth of clothes for a three-hour tour?”

“I’d rather come over-prepared than find out two days into this that I don’t have any deodorant. I might be here for days.”

Mark leaned over and whispered in her ear. “If you want to outlast Lester and his girl here, it might be weeks. She’s got a lot of knitting to do.”

A faint smile appeared on Claire’s face. “I’m prepared.” She arched an eyebrow at his small gym bag. “Are you?”

“I travel light.”

“Then travel out of here and give me your place in line.”

“Claire, darling, you almost sound desperate.”

A flicker of something—fear, worry—flashed in her eyes, but in an instant, she was all Claire again. “No, just determined.” She fidgeted for a few seconds. Then she dug in her handbag and pulled out a bag of Hershey Kisses. She unwrapped two and popped one in her mouth. She offered the bag to him.

He shook his head. “A little early in the morning for a sugar high.”

“It’s never too early, or too late, for chocolate.” She popped in the second, chewed, swallowed. “Give me your place in line. I need that RV.”

“So do I,” Mark said. “Now, move over, twenty-one, and give the big boys some room.”

She crossed her arms over her knees. “I don’t think so.”

He crossed his over his chest. “I figured as much.”

They sat there like two store mannequins for the better part of an hour. A few other people hiked into the mall, suitcases and duffel bags in hand. All but two young boys turned away once they ran a count on those ahead of them. The boys settled down beside Claire and got into a mock sparring match.

At 5:00 a.m., a thin, wiry woman who looked like a steel rail came out from the mall offices, stood before the group and clapped her hands. “Okay, group, let’s begin!” She had a long, pinched face and black hair cut short enough for Mark to see her ears. He could imagine her as a gym teacher somewhere, shouting tortuous instructions with exuberance.

Lester continued hock-hocking away. His wife gave him a jab in the side. He jerked awake, blinking and looking around as though he had no idea where he was or why his wife had done that. “Is it time, Millie?”

“Shush.” Millie tucked her knitting needles into an I Love Bingo canvas bag. “Pay attention to the lady, Lester.”

Millie probably cut Lester’s meat into little pieces before dinner. She seemed the type.

“I’m Nancy Lewis, the community development coordinator for the Mercy Mall. We may be small, but we’re growing,” she said cheerily, using the trademark sign-off for the mall. Nancy smiled perkily and paced along the line. “I’d like to welcome you to the Survive and Drive contest! Only twenty of you will get the chance to win this fantastic motor home.” She ran her hand along the hull with the reverence of one of Bob Barker’s girls. “It’s a very expensive vehicle—an eighty-five-thousand-dollar value. It has a fully-equipped kitchen with gorgeous wood cabinets, a lounge chair, sofa, queen bed and dinette. We’ve added a couple of fold-up stools to provide additional seating. There are three televisions, one up front, one in the living area, and one in the bedroom. The shower comes with a power massage head and a skylight. Power windows, power locks and deluxe stereo system.” She slipped her hand along the side in a swoosh finale. “Anyone would be thrilled to take this motoring up to the Catskills or down the coast of Florida.”

Millie gave Lester another jab; he’d started to doze again. Claire, however, was paying close attention. Her gaze flicked between the RV and the woman, her muscles tensed, ready to spring should the number of contestants get stretched to twenty-one.

“I’d like to thank Deluxe Motor Homes for donating this magnificent RV. They’re celebrating their fiftieth anniversary in business here in Mercy by giving away one of their newest models. Let’s give a big thanks to Don Nash, the CEO of Deluxe.”

From the front of the vehicle came Don himself, a slight man in a tailored suit. Deluxe Motor Homes was one of the biggest employers in town and did a brisk business creating custom RVs for country singers and retirees. Mark supposed this contest promotion was a drop in their marketing budget bucket.

Led by Nancy’s wild bring-back-Tinkerbell-from-the-dead claps, the crowd applauded Don’s generous donation.

“Now.” Nancy clapped her hands together again. Mark wondered if her palms were starting to smart. “Let’s play who’s who among the competition before we board.” She pointed to the first person in line. “Why don’t you start?”

Mark craned his neck around Millie and Lester’s lawn chairs. A thin African-American woman wearing business clothes sat primly on one of the mall benches someone had dragged over by the RV. “I’m Adele Williams.”

“And…” Nancy prompted, waving her hand in a circular motion. “What do you do?”

“I’m a loan officer for Lawford First National.”

“Probably could have bought her own RV,” muttered Millie. She pulled out her knitting again. It seemed to be the thing she did when she was frustrated. Click, clack, click, clack.

Nancy went down the line and unearthed a few people Mark knew, a few he didn’t. There was John Madison, a guy he’d played football with. John was married and had two kids, a fact he gleefully shared, complete with photos. “They want to go to Disney World,” he said. “Two little kids, dreaming of Mickey.” He glanced around but no one expressed an iota of empathy.

There was Renee Angelo, a girl who’d been a class behind Mark. She told Nancy she wanted the RV so her grandmother could “retire in style.” Again, not an ounce of pathos from the group.

Then two makeup counter salesgirls, a security guard who looked about a hundred years old, three women who were stay-at-home moms and one guy who didn’t seem to have a job and couldn’t come up with a good reason for wanting the RV. “This girl asked me if I wanted to sign up,” he said with a shrug. “So I did.”

Then there was the bingo bunch, two couples about Millie and Lester’s age, who all talked of moving to Florida for the winter months. Millie apparently knew these folks and muttered about them under her breath as she click-clacked away. Number fifteen was a doctor. He checked his beeper twice while telling Nancy about his practice. Mark didn’t think he’d last long.

Claire was mute. She watched Nancy make her way down the line, eyeing them all like the second-ranked runner warily watching the first-ranked before the race’s start.

Sixteen and seventeen were a married couple on their honeymoon. They must be insane to want to spend their honeymoon in an RV with a bunch of strangers. They looked young and gullible, still at the age where they thought the world was going to hand them good things on a platter. A few short months ago, Mark had felt the same way. Funny how fast things could change.

Eighteen and nineteen were Millie and Lester. Twenty was Mark. When Nancy asked him what he did for work, he hesitated. “I’m… I was a salesman for a software development company but now I write training manuals.”

“How cool! Like for Microsoft?”

He snorted. “Not exactly.”

“And why do you want to win the RV, Mark?” Nancy flashed him a smile.

“I, ah…” What could he say? He was dead broke, he’d screwed up royally and he needed the RV to provide himself with both a reliable ride to California and a means to right the mistakes he’d made? Instead, he said the first thing that came to mind. “I want to go to Disneyland.”

“How sweet,” Nancy stepped over by Claire, then counted with her pointer finger. “I’m sorry, you’re twenty-one.”

“But I couldn’t pass for it,” Claire joked, using Mark’s one-liner as if trying to charm Nancy into letting her stay. “I’m Claire—”

“You’re twenty-one,” Nancy interrupted. “The rules say only twenty get on. Sorry.” She pointed to the board of rules. Then she walked back to the head of the line. “Okay, people.” She clapped twice. “Bags up! Let’s get aboard!”

Millie jabbed Lester again and stood while he folded their chairs and hoisted their bags. The others who’d missed being part of the lucky twenty wandered away.

Mark turned back to Claire. He’d never seen such a forlorn look in a woman’s eyes before. “I’m sorry, Claire.”

“Give me your place.” She gripped his arm. “Please, Mark. I’ve never asked a favor of you before, just give me this one thing and I’ll…” he saw her reach for the words, knowing from past history Claire wasn’t the type to ask anyone for anything, “owe you for the rest of my life.”

He hesitated. Any other day, if a pretty woman asked a favor of him, he’d oblige, charmingly offering a date in trade. They’d wine, dine, flirt, and before the end of the night, she’d be in his bed and he’d figure he’d been the winner.

But this wasn’t any other day. And these weren’t ordinary circumstances. For the first time in his life, Mark Dole was desperate. Desperate enough to ignore a beautiful woman’s smile and deny her the one thing she wanted. “I can’t, Claire. Sorry.”

Disbelief washed over her features. “You can’t tell me your trip to Disneyland is more important than my reasons.”

“And just why do you want to win that thing? It’s a bit big for your driveway, don’t you think?”

“I need to get to California.” She said it with such determination that he doubted she was lying.

“Buy a plane ticket.”

“A plane ticket doesn’t solve my problems. Besides, up until yesterday, I was a hairdresser at Flo’s Cut and Go. I’m rolling in blue hair dye and quarter tips, not dough.” Her gaze filled with entreaty again. “Please, Mark. I know you haven’t always liked me, but—”

“Who says I don’t like you?”

“All aboard!” Nancy cried. “Last call for the RV Train, bound for Florida or maybe Disneyland.”

Mark ignored the drill instructor. “Who says I don’t like you?” he repeated.

“Come on, Mark. We had the date from hell with Jenny and Nate. Don’t you remember? We fought over everything.”

He smiled. His memories included a spirited fight, yes, but also a spirited attraction. Why they’d never pursued that, he couldn’t recall. “I remember you were pretty warm that night.”

She let out a sigh. “That wasn’t me. It was the butter at the bottom of your popcorn bucket.” She shook her head. “That’s not the point. I need to get on that RV and win it.”

Mark raised his hands in a gesture of futility. “Sorry, Claire. I wish I could help you.” He picked up his bag, and crossed to the motor home. Behind him, he could almost hear the sound of Claire’s disappointment.

He’d arrived before her. He was number twenty. He’d earned his place on the motor home. But as he walked toward the prize he intended to win, he couldn’t have felt like a bigger heel if he’d been on the bottom of a pair of loafers.

Chapter Two

Claire clutched her suitcase and watched Mark climb the first step of the RV. She hated him and envied him and wanted to throw things at him, but truth was, she had arrived here one person too late. She’d blown her chance because she’d stayed on the phone too long. A few too many minutes of conversation with the nurse. And now she was left holding a suitcase, with no way to get to the coast. To her new life. To the first person she could call family in a long time.

Buy a plane ticket, Mark had said. If only it were that simple. She’d made a promise, and now, damn it all and damn it again, she was going to have to break it. And even worse, do so over the phone, with one end of the connection on a cell phone in Mercy and the other end in a room in California smelling of antiseptic.

Despair settled over her, heavy and thick. She’d come so far, risked so much, and now she was going to lose it all. Had she really thought she could pull this off? Change her life with a risky move like this?

She dropped the suitcase to the floor, sat down on top and buried her face in her hands. She would not cry. She would not—

“I can’t do it! It’s so small! I can’t—” One of the makeup-counter salesgirls came barreling off the RV, nearly knocking Mark over in her rush to flee. “It’s like a coffin in there!” She stopped in the courtyard, took in several deep gulps of air, then ran out of the mall.

“One down,” Nancy said. “Eighteen to go and we’ll have a winner.”

“No, wait!” Claire scrambled to her feet, grabbed her suitcase, and ran over to Nancy. “The last person hasn’t gotten on yet. Technically, the competition hasn’t started. And now, you only have nineteen. The rules said twenty.”

Nancy’s mouth turned in and she narrowed her gaze. “I can count. We had twenty, now we have nineteen.”

“The rules said—”

“The lady’s right.” Mark interrupted, still standing on the step. He flashed Nancy a winning smile. “I can see you’re a nice person, someone…understanding. She just wants a chance.” He indicated Claire. “You seem the kind who would give her one.” He leaned closer to Nancy. “Between you and me, I don’t think she’ll last more than a few hours anyway. Then you’ll be back to nineteen again, all before the mall opens. Besides,” he added on a whisper, “she might sue. It’s a sticky situation, considering I haven’t gotten on yet.”

Why would Mark help her? Especially after he’d turned her down earlier? Claire didn’t bother to try to understand his motives, not when her chance at boarding the RV was at stake.

The lawsuit implication seemed to sway Nancy. “Okay, get on. But remember,” she cautioned before Claire took a step, “I’m being very nice in giving you this chance.”

“Nancy, you’re all heart.” Mark flashed his best smile. It worked its usual magic, a trick Claire had seen a thousand times in the years she’d known Mark. He smiled and grown women swooned. Even hard-nosed Nancy melted—she returned his smile with a little giggle.

“Thank you.” Claire shook Nancy’s hand but the other woman barely noticed. Her gaze was entirely on Mark, until she was interrupted by a question from Don Nash and turned away with clear reluctance. “Let’s get in there, Mark.”

“Ladies first,” he said, gesturing before him.

Claire shook her head. “I know how you are. You just want to watch my butt. Get in there and I’ll watch yours instead.”

He arched an eyebrow. “I didn’t know you liked me. Or my rear, Claire.” Mark wasted a smile on her. Claire felt a flutter in her stomach that surely had to come from the three donuts she’d gobbled on her way out the door. He reached into his pocket and withdrew a pencil. “Here.” He handed it to her.

“What’s this for?”

“In case you want to capture the view.” Then he climbed the steps and entered the RV. Claire sighted her target and launched. Perfect aim. The pencil beaned his left temple.

“Hey!” Mark said.

Claire grinned. “I told you I don’t play fair.”

He leaned toward her. “Makes it all that much more interesting, doesn’t it?” There were a hundred other implications in his voice. She chose to ignore them all.

Once inside, Claire understood why the claustrophobic girl had run screaming from the motor home. Twenty people, with luggage, did not fit easily in a forty-five-foot trailer, no matter how nicely decorated the interior. Already, the air was stifling, filled with the odor of humans and the sickly-sweet stench of perfume. If Claire hadn’t had so much at stake herself, she would have left, too. The crowd was overwhelming.

Nancy entered the RV and grimaced. “Now that we’re all here, let’s start the competition.” She flicked a switch at the front of the vehicle and blessed cool air began to pump through the vents. “First, a few rules. The newspaper will be delivered daily and you can get local channels on the TVs, so you’ll stay current. There’s a full kitchen, with a stocked refrigerator and food cabinet. I’ll be bringing by fresh groceries, as often as they’re needed with a crowd this big. Just give me a list and I’ll do my best. A couple of area restaurants have graciously agreed to donate dinners for the next few nights. In exchange for a mention in the media coverage, of course.”

“Media coverage?” someone asked from the back.

“Oh yeah, didn’t I tell you? A crew from Ten-Spot News in Lawford will be out later today to film you. Sort of “The Real World/Survivor” in an RV. It was part of what convinced Deluxe to donate the RV. Anyway, Ten-Spot will be poking their heads in here from time to time. They’re on their way over right now. There was an accident on the interstate and they got delayed. So they missed the big boarding.” Nancy tapped a finger against her lips. “Maybe we could re-stage that, for the cameras.” She shook her head. “Anyway, back to the rules. You’ll all be in here with each other for a while, so be nice. No profanity, no lewd gestures,” she shot a glance at Mark that seemed to say she wouldn’t mind a lewd gesture from him later, “and no fighting. Sleeping will be a first-come, first-served kind of thing. There’s a queen bed in back, a double in the fold-out couch, another double on top of the cab and a recliner. The captain’s chairs up front are pretty comfortable, too. And then there’s the floor.” She tapped her foot against it. “Carpeted at least.”

Nancy went on to say that if they left the RV, they’d be disqualified. Stepping outside the vehicle for any reason was considered quitting. The competition would go on as long as there was more than one person inside. “Last to go takes the RV home,” she said, sweeping her hand around the room like Vanna White. “That’s it. Any questions?”

“How many hours do you think this will take?” Adele asked.

Nancy shrugged. “I don’t know. In the contest at Mall of America, there were two guys who lasted three months.”

A gasp went up from the crowd. Adele glanced at her watch. “I have to be at work by noon or use up a vacation day.”

Nancy gave her an indulgent smile, as if Adele were slow-witted. “I think you’ll be here past noon.”

Adele glanced around the crowded room, then sat on one of the kitchenette chairs. “I’ll have to call my boss.”

“There’s no phone in the RV. If you have a cell phone, you can use that. Otherwise, the only contact with the outside world will be through me.” She smiled graciously at them all. “I’d be glad to let your family know how you’re doing, or they could come by and visit while they shop, and talk to you through the window. Be sure to tell them that Joe’s Camping Store is having a big sale this week on camping gear, to go along with our promotion.” When no one else asked a question, Nancy gave them a little wave, wished them luck and got off the RV.

Claire saw clear relief in Nancy’s face when she took in a deep breath of canned mall air. When the door shut, Claire felt a twinge of panic. Nineteen other people. One RV. For days on end. What had she just gotten herself into? And what if it didn’t work out?

Mark’s gaze caught hers. “You okay?”

She drew herself up and took a breath. “Of course.”

“Of course,” he repeated with a smile that said he knew she was lying.

“I think everyone should stow their luggage in the bedroom,” Millie, the knitting grandma, said. “Lester, take our things back there.”

“Who made you boss?” said Roger, who’d just gotten married on Friday. He was only twenty-one, too young to be married, Claire thought. She’d cut his hair last week. Flat top, shaved sides, à la the marines. She couldn’t believe he’d talked his new wife, Jessica, into spending their honeymoon on the RV. She supposed it was better than spending the weekend at Jessica’s mom’s house, probably the only other option they could afford. Not exactly an auspicious beginning for married life, but Claire understood being blind to everything but love. Blind to a lack of money, blind to a lack of a job. Blind as a stupid bat, flying face-first into a wall of denial.

Millie pursed her lips. “Do you have a better idea, son?”

“Well, no.” Roger looked flustered by her challenge. “I think we should decide things by committee, though.”

Millie let out a sigh. “There is very little room in here, in case you didn’t notice. If we stow our bags in the bedroom, we have a private place to change our clothes.”

“Okay,” Roger said. For the next few minutes, there was nothing but the sounds of grunts and “excuse me’s” as each of them made their way to the bedroom and deposited their luggage.

“Well,” Millie said when they were done. “Anyone up for a game of canasta?”

The silence that greeted her made it clear how the crowd felt about card games. Somebody started a pot of coffee in the tiny kitchen. One of the men—Danny, the one who didn’t seem to have a job, Claire remembered—flopped into the driver’s seat, grabbed the satellite remote and turned on the TV. Typical.

“Awesome! I can watch every game in the country.” Danny immediately put the remote to use. A half second on each station until he knew exactly where ESPN and Fox Sports were located. Then he settled back in the chair and propped his feet on the dash to watch football.

“Glad you got on the bus to nowhere now?” Mark asked, coming up beside her in the corner she’d ducked into to stay out of the crush of people.

Lord, he was awfully close. Claire stiffened, trying to take up less space. “Of course.”

“Seems like it will be close quarters for a while. Think you can stand that?”

“Can you?”

“Oh yeah.” He leaned toward her. She could feel his breath tickling along her collarbone. “I like being close.”

She pulled herself away, as far as she could, which was about three inches. It was nowhere near enough distance. “Seems you’re not the only one.” She gestured toward Roger and Jessica.

The newlyweds had commandeered the sofa and stretched out along the length of it. They were half en-twined with each other and had already started on the honeymoon. Loud, sloppy sounds of kissing came from their corner.

“That’s not making love,” Mark said with disdain. “That’s wrestling.”

Laughter burst from Claire. The moment of détente felt good, the laughter a much-needed break in the tension she’d been feeling ever since she threw out her old life, sure the new one was just a matter of waiting out the rest of the competitors. But now she didn’t feel so confident about her decision.

Millie hurried over to the couch and rapped the surface with her knitting needle. Roger and Jessica broke apart and sat up. “There’ll be none of that,” Millie said, wagging her finger at them. “It’s disgusting.”

“Come on, grandma. We just got married yesterday.” Roger held up Jessica’s left hand as proof.

“Then get a room at the Motel 6. This is not the place for…for that.”

“We’re taking this RV on our honeymoon,” Roger said.

“When you win it, that’s when your honeymoon begins. Until then, I think you should sleep up front and your girl should sleep in the back, on the floor. Lester and I will have the bed and we can keep an eye on her.”

“Hey,” piped up Danny. “Who says you get the big bed?”

“Lester and I are the oldest,” she said, as if that settled it.

“No you aren’t, Millie,” called one of the other elderly people. “My Gracie here has six months on you.” That started another spirited disagreement about birth dates, which led into a game of one-upmanship about whose hip was worse and who deserved the bed more, based on their medical files.

Mark squeezed into the center of the room. “I have a fair way of deciding who gets the beds,” he shouted over the din.

Claire glanced up in surprise. Since when did Mark get involved in anything besides his own life? He’d never been the kind of guy to step into the middle of a mess. In high school, he’d always been content to ride the popularity wave. Now he was helping her, negotiating a sleeping peace treaty and generally acting like a nice guy—not like the Mark she remembered. Since he’d returned from California, something had changed. For good? Claire doubted it. Men like Mark didn’t make permanent personality changes.

Everyone quieted down and looked at Mark. He grabbed the deck of cards on the kitchen table. Millie opened her mouth to protest. “I only need them for a minute,” Mark said. He shuffled the deck and then held it aloft. “There’s sleeping for six in the beds, then two captain’s chairs and the recliner here in the living room. That makes nine comfortable places to sleep. Everyone takes a card. Highest cards get first pick. Tomorrow night, we deal again, so you always have a shot at a bed.”

There were a few grumbles, but no one disagreed. Mark circled the RV, letting each person take a card. He smiled when he got to Claire. “Maybe you’ll get a joker.”

“Already had one of those, thank you.” She took the first card from the deck. A jack of clubs. She stood a good chance at a comfortable place to sleep. After the sleepless night she’d had, it was a welcome thought.

“I got an ace,” Millie crowed when Mark got to her. “Lester, what’d you get?”

He flashed a two of diamonds. Millie’s face fell. “I can’t sleep with another man. It would be—”

“There’s always the chairs,” Mark said as he took his own card from the deck. He looked at it, put it in his back pocket, then laid the rest of the deck back on the table. “Now, let’s divvy up the beds.”

Millie immediately claimed a captain’s chair, bemoaning that she would have to sleep without Lester. Adele Williams had a king of hearts, but gave it back. “It’s after eleven. I can’t lose my job over this thing, not if I don’t know for sure I’ll win. I better get to work.” She grabbed her bag and headed out the door.

Eighteen people left for Claire to beat now. The loss of one person did nothing to open up space and air in the RV, but it was a beginning. Maybe after a night of sleeping on the floor, others would leave, too. The doctor had already been paged twice and looked anxious. He’d clearly thought the competition would be easy and quick. The three stay-at-home moms had shared a cell phone to call home and check on their kids. One looked ready to leave. Her little Jimmy had fallen off the swing set and scraped his knee. Claire could hear her debating whether to stay.

“Claire, what have you got?” Mark’s voice drew her back to the card.

“A jack.”

“You get next pick. There’s space with Milo, the security guard, on the queen bed in back. Or a space beside Tawny, the other makeup girl, on the sofa bed. Or…” he reached into his back pocket and withdrew a queen. “Or a space beside me in the double bed over the cab.”

She wondered if Mark had cheated, purposely taking a higher card than her own so he could end up in bed with her. Nah. That was a crazy thought. She and Mark barely tolerated each other. They only bordered on being friends because they’d grown up together, which meant they had skinned knees and mud pies in common, not desire. They might joke about an attraction, but there was nothing between them to worry about.

Still, she wasn’t going to tinker with that by sharing a bed with him. She was through making stupid mistakes because a sexy smile overrode her better sense. Claire crossed the room and handed her jack to Lester.

“Thank you, missy.” He clutched the card in his gnarled, wrinkled hand. “That’s very kind of you.”

“Lester, choose the chair beside me,” Millie cried.

He ignored his wife. “I think I’ll take some space in that bed right there.” Lester pointed to the sofa bed.

“I am not sleeping with an old man!” Tawny got to her feet.

Millie bustled over and switched her card with the girl’s, before she could protest. “Then you sleep up front, dear, in the chair, and I’ll keep my Lester company.”

Lester let out a heavy sigh.

By the time the rest of the beds had been accounted for, Claire realized Mark hadn’t used his queen after all. He’d just tucked it back into the deck and moved on to the next person. She didn’t ponder his reasoning. Better to leave it alone.

After lunch, Claire settled into the recliner, cracked open her journal and began to write.

Only fifteen people left. The doctor’s gone, and so is one of the elderly couples, who opted to drive to Florida. The third mom left, to give little Jimmy a dose of TLC. If this keeps up, I’ll win in no time. Danny, though, is glued to the chair and the TV. Millie, Lester, Art and Gracie are playing the world’s longest card game. Tawny started a miniriot when she polished her nails and the fumes became toxic. The security guard, Milo, is snoring on the couch. Renee and John are reading, the others are talking quietly. Roger and Jessica are on the other end of the couch, looking quite unhappy for newlyweds. And Mark…

Claire stopped writing and closed the book. Mark… Well, he wasn’t acting like the Mark she knew. He’d been a peacemaker, stepping in when tempers started to flare, proposing ideas to settle everything from bathroom time to washing dishes. He was diplomatic and charming enough that everyone listened. If she hadn’t known him and his reputation for breaking hearts already, Claire would have probably found that…attractive. Either way, a relationship didn’t figure into her future, so she dropped the thought of Mark like a hot coal.

It was after ten now in California. Claire dug her cell phone out of her suitcase and headed into the only private place within the RV—the bathroom. The reception was terrible, even with her antenna up, so she climbed inside the corner shower and stretched it toward the skylight. Marginally better.

The call took several seconds to connect. Finally, a ring. Then another. By the fourth ring, Claire was worried. Finally, on the fifth, a gravelly voice picked up. “Hello?”

“Dad? You okay?”

“Yeah, I was just wrestling with the nurse.”

Claire laughed. “Who won?”

“I think I did, but she’s already challenged me to a re-match.” He paused to cough. The racking sounds were surely painful for him, but they also stabbed at Claire’s chest, too. She wished to God she had a better plan. “Sorry, honey.”

“You taking care of yourself?”

“As best I can.” Another series of coughs hit him, this one blessedly shorter. “I wish I could see you.”

Claire leaned her head against the cool tile wall of the shower. “Me, too, Dad.”

David Sawyer was still just a voice to her. She had yet to hug her father, see how tall he was compared to her, see if his pinky finger had that same odd crook hers did. She’d only found her father four months ago, and already the demon called cancer was stealing him away.

He started coughing again and one of his visiting nurses, Jeannie, took the phone. “Hi, Claire.” Over the last few weeks, these women, who maintained the physical link Claire didn’t have, had become close friends, a tangible rope between herself and the father she was still getting to know.

“How is he?”

She heard Jeannie cup her hand over the phone. “As well as can be expected. The doctor said…” she hesitated, clearly wishing she could deliver this news in person, in one of those quiet rooms where relatives could grieve in privacy. “The surgery didn’t quite get it all. He’ll be starting chemotherapy in two weeks, as soon as he’s recovered from the surgery. He can’t go anywhere until it’s done, but he should be feeling better soon.”

The chemo, Claire knew, was no guarantee of anything. From the way her father sounded, it might not be the final cure he needed. “I’ll be there soon.”

If she didn’t have possession of the RV by the time her father started chemo, she’d just grab a plane and figure out the rest of her life later. Her move, her new start—all of it would have to wait.

“They got most of it with the surgery and radiation, you know. It’s still at stage two. With chemo—”

Claire’s sigh finished the sentence. “I know.”

“We’re taking good care of him,” Jeannie said. “He’s not in a hospital, he’s home. There’s a lot of good news.”

“I know. I appreciate all you’re doing.” In the background, Claire heard her father’s coughs abate.

Weaker now, he came back on the phone. “Guess that’s my cue to hang up. Talking wears me out.”

Claire’s hand gripped the phone tighter, as if she could hold him through the wireless connection. God, how she wanted to be there, to help him through this. “I know, Dad. Just take care of yourself. I’ll be there soon.”

“Are we…” he paused between words, searching for breath, “still going to…take that…vacation?”

Claire bit her lip. “Absolutely, Dad.” She closed her eyes and hung on to the phone long after they’d said goodbye. A tear slipped down her face. Then another, until the stress and worry released itself in a sob. She who never cried, who could wither a cocky man with a glance, who had been the last to leave the beauty shop when the tornado five years ago came roaring through—she who had never cried as much in her life as she had in the last four months.

“Claire? You okay?” Mark had come into the bathroom and she hadn’t even noticed. She must have forgotten to lock the door. “I knocked, but you didn’t answer, and I heard you—”

She swiped away her tears and turned to face him, all Claire again. Well, herself taken down a notch. No matter how hard she tried lately, the spirited person she normally was had taken a back seat to someone a little more subdued, worried and unsure of her decisions.

“I’m fine. Just checking out the view from the skylight.” She glanced up and saw plain, white mall ceiling. Twin recessed lights glared back at her. “Yep. It’s a great view.”

“You look upset. Is something wrong?”

“Nope. Not a thing.” She tucked her phone into the back pocket of her jeans and stepped out of the shower.

He stopped her before she passed him. A zing of heat went up her arm when he touched her. Must be her frazzled nerves. “Wait, don’t go out there yet.”

“Why not?”

“The TV crew is here. As soon as they showed up, three other people quit. Those two other moms took off—good thing, too, because their cell phone has been ringing nonstop with babysitters and husbands at work calling—then Milo left, saying he couldn’t get a decent nap with all the commotion. So now we’re down to twelve.”

Eleven people to go before she had the RV. Some of them, like Millie, looked like they had every intention of spending weeks here. Claire Richards did not have weeks. She needed to win and get on the road to California, before she chickened out and ended up stuck at Flo’s for the rest of her life. She needed this change, needed to embark on her own life, not the one she’d been suckered into by a guy who talked a good game.

And she needed to see her father, to spend time with him one-on-one and begin to recapture the years they’d lost. The doubts returned again to plague her mind. Could she make a new start? Did she really have it in her to chuck it all for something essentially unknown?

Either way, without the RV, making all of that happen would be near impossible. There weren’t many options.

“You might want to put on your game face before you go out there,” Mark was saying. “The reporter wants to interview everyone, find out why they’re here, what their strategy is.”

For the briefest second, she was tempted to lean against Mark, pour her troubles into his hands. To rely on someone else for once. Claire had been on her own for so long. The burden of being strong was suddenly too heavy.

He was so close. Inches from her.

Granted, it wasn’t his fault. This wasn’t exactly the bathroom at the Taj Mahal. It was only slightly bigger than the bathroom in the two-bedroom ranch where she’d grown up. But never in that bathroom, or in any other, had she been more aware of the rise and fall of a man’s chest. She shook herself back to reality. This was Mark.

“…and I’ll warn you, they’re looking for dirt,” he said. “Ups the ratings, you know.”

Claire gestured toward the shower. “I just came from there. No dirt on me.” She tried to work up a laugh, but it fell flat.

Something dark and fierce simmered in his gaze, but his voice was all light and teasing, the same Mark she’d known all her life. “Doesn’t look like you got all the important parts,” he said. He ran a finger over the curve of her shoulder and she felt the heat ratchet up ten degrees. She’d never reacted like that to Mark before. Then again, the last time they’d “played” together, they’d both been nine. “You really should get naked to take a shower properly, you know.”

“So I’ve heard.” She needed some air. It wasn’t his finger teasing along the edge of her tank that had her forgetting her name and where she was and what day it was. “Well, I better get back out there.” But she didn’t move.

Mark’s face, so familiar, yet so different now that he had the angular lines and dusting of stubble of a grown man, was a breath away. “Any time you need someone to scrub your back or want to scrub mine,” he smiled and some of the heat left his gaze as he kidded with her, “I have this spot right here…” he pointed to a place on his back, “that I can’t reach by myself. If you’d care to help, the shower looks big enough for two.”

Whoa. This was going into territory where Claire refused to journey. This was Mark, she reminded herself again. She knew, from all the years she’d lived around the corner from him, that he had as much interest in monogamy as a goldfish. She was twenty-eight and no longer interested in serial dating. Besides, she wasn’t Mark’s type—she wasn’t young or buxom.

If he was making a pass at her, he had one of only two reasons in mind. He was hard up, or he was using this as some kind of strategy to win the RV. He’d weave his spell and convince her to get off. She wasn’t giving up her dream to some guy with a soft touch and a good smile. She’d done that once before, for Travis. And had ended up stuck with a lease and a pile of bills while he pursued his dreams. Never again. “Thanks, but no thanks.”

She started to brush past him. “Claire—”

Claire wheeled around. “I know you, Mark. I know your pattern. A night in your bed, maybe three. The sex would be oh-so-good.” She ran a finger up his chest, her mouth exaggerating the O’s in her words. “We’d be peeling ourselves off the ceiling after we were done. And then, when you realized I actually had a brain above my breasts, you’d walk away. No,” she put a finger to her chin. “You’d run. And I’d have wasted a few days of my life with a guy who can’t see past my lingerie. I’ve been there, done that and have no intentions of being that stupid again, with you or any other man. So let me put you out of your misery and save us all grief down the road.” She pulled the tank to the right, exposing the thin strap of her bra. “This set’s blue, fringed with lace. The one I’ll wear tomorrow is black. Then maybe I’ll wear the red, or the indigo. Happy?” She slipped the shirt back. “Now, let’s get back to the competition.”

She stalked out of the bathroom, leaving Mark Dole with his jaw on the floor.

Chapter Three

Mark gave Claire two minutes, then he emerged from the bathroom and ducked into the bedroom, grabbing his laptop. If anyone had noticed they’d been in there at the same time, they didn’t say a word. They were too immersed in their chance at fifteen minutes of fame. Or in the case of Ten-Spot News, more like fifteen seconds.

It was like a scene out of some cheap detective story. The bright light, the nosy journalist, the mike in someone’s face. And the crowd in the motor home was eating it up. Mark had had his moment years ago and hated every second of it. The last thing he wanted was a repeat. His fame was on hiatus—indefinitely—thank you very much.

He set up his laptop on the kitchen table and pushed the power button. He’d work and avoid the television cameras. First, he jotted off a quick e-mail to send with his wireless modem.

Luke,

We’re down to twelve already, so I might be home sooner than you think. We’ve got two old couples (and one of the women, Millie, might commit murder by knitting needle to win), a pair of newlyweds and some people we knew in high school. It’s been…interesting so far. Actually, very interesting.

He didn’t say anything about Claire. Mark wasn’t quite sure how he felt about her being here, but knew mentioning her to Luke would send him running over to see for himself. Instead, Mark added something about the Nova, then hit Send and switched to the file for the software manual he was working on.

If he could get the manual e-mailed out in the next couple days, he’d be one paycheck closer to his goal of helping Luke reestablish the business. Once he won the RV, he’d be able to sell it for enough to get their company off to a new start. Then he and Luke could get back to business in California and Mark would finally feel as if he had earned the partnership his brother had given him years ago. He’d never quite felt he’d deserved it and now, maybe, he could repay Luke for all that his brother had given him.

But it wasn’t easy to work, not with the distraction of the TV crew. Renee was their current victim. “So, Miss Angelo, why do you want to win the RV?” The reporter leaned in with a smile.

“I want to win it for my grandpa, so he can retire and drive around the country.” She looked sincere, but Mark remembered her mentioning a retiring grandma to Nancy.

The reporter asked her a few more questions about “Grandpa.” Renee put on a woeful face, perhaps hoping to win pity from the viewing audience. Then he moved on to the others, asking them where they were from and why they wanted to win. Everyone repeated their reasons from this morning, some embellishing a bit to make a more dramatic case. Claire stood to one side, with the others who’d already been interviewed. Not even she’d managed to successfully dodge her shot at Hollywood.

Her face was still soft, tinged with sadness, her gaze on some faraway spot. He wondered where her thoughts had gone and what could possibly be so bad in Claire’s life that she’d stand in the shower of a motor home and cry. The Claire he knew was stoic, optimistic. Never had he seen her upset or hurt, even when she’d fallen from the top of the monkey bars in third grade and skinned up her knees.

As a child, she’d been the Margaret to his Dennis the Menace. But as adults—

The very things that had driven him crazy were beginning to spark his interest. No, not just spark. Inflame.

He was still watching Claire when ten thousand watts, or maybe a hundred thousand, were thrust in his eyes. “James Kent.” The reporter put out a hand and shook Mark’s. “And you are?”

“Mark Dole.”

The reporter, a slim young man with a slight tic in his left eye, flipped back a couple pages in his pad, to a series of notes about each of the contestants. “We got the list of contestants earlier from Nancy and did a little research,” James explained, clearly eager to impress everyone with his journalistic skills. “Okay, you ready?”

“I’m working here.” Mark gestured to the laptop.

“This will only take a second, I promise. Okay?”

Mark nodded, glancing at the pad uneasily again, then the light’s full power hit his eyes, nearly blinding him.

“Mr. Dole, you’ve got quite the reputation in this town,” James said into the mike, his voice now suddenly deep and serious, as if he’d hit puberty in the last five seconds. “Two-time all-star champ in both baseball and football, first place in the state track meet in your senior year, homecoming king in junior and senior year, voted most popular in your class.”

“That was years ago,” said Mark. The silent audience on the RV watched the exchange.

James consulted his pad again. “When you were ten, you rescued some boy caught on the ice, saved his—”

“Which has nothing to do with this.”

“Oh, but it does. You’re a hero, Mark Dole. Complete with the key to the city of Lawford to go with it.” James slid the fuzzy black microphone under Mark’s chin.

Heat rose up his neck, so thick it threatened to strangle him. “I’m not a hero. Just an ordinary guy.”

“No.” James let out a slight chuckle. “You’re a story, my friend. Now, tell me about—”

“Find another story,” Mark growled. He batted the mike away, got to his feet and stalked to the front of the RV.

Escape was impossible. Forty-five feet wasn’t enough distance between him and the camera. Four million feet wouldn’t have been enough, either. James followed doggedly behind, as if Mark held the secret to where Jimmy Hoffa was buried. Of all the questions in the world, Kent had to ask that one.

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