“Mr. O’Neal, are you ready to order?”

Teresa asked reporter Riley O’Neal, a regular at the Rainbow Café.

“How about a date with you?” Riley answered, a boyish grin resting on his lips.

It was hard to resist him, but Teresa had two kids and too many bills. Besides, this gray-eyed charmer might be the sexiest man that she’d ever seen, but she wasn’t interested in his reckless attitude and irresponsible fun.

“The answer is no. I’m not on the menu, Mr. O’Neal.”

“Teresa, one day I will come in here and you will offer me more than just eggs.”

—A conversation between reporter Riley O’Neal and waitress Teresa Scott at the Rainbow Café

Dear Reader,

“It was a high like no other,” says Elaine Nichols. She’s speaking, of course, about getting “the call.” After numerous submissions, Elaine sold her first manuscript to Silhouette Special Edition and we’re pleased to publish Cowgirl Be Mine this month—a reunion romance between a heroine whose body needs healing and a hero whose wounds are hidden inside. Elaine has many more Special Edition books planned, so keep an eye out for this fresh new voice.

And be sure to pick up all the novels Special Edition has to offer. Marrying the Bravo fortune heir granted the heroine custody of her son, but once the two are under the same roof, they’re unable to sleep in separate beds, in Christine Rimmer’s The Marriage Conspiracy. Then a hungry reporter wishes his tempting waitress would offer him a tasty dish of her each morning, in Dateline Matrimony by reader favorite Gina Wilkins.

What’s The Truth About Tate? Marilyn Pappano tells you when her journalist heroine threatens to expose the illegitimate brother of the hero, a man who would do anything to protect his family. She hadn’t giggled since her mother died, so His Little Girl’s Laughter by Karen Rose Smith is music to Rafe Pierson’s ears. And in Tori Carrington’s The Woman for Dusty Conrad, a firefighter hero has returned to divorce his wife, but discovers a still-burning flame.

We hope you enjoy this month’s exciting selections, and if you have a dream of being published, like Elaine Nichols, please send a self-addressed stamped query letter to my attention at: Silhouette Books, 300 East 42nd St, 6th floor, New York, NY 10017.

Best,

Karen Taylor Richman

Senior Editor

Dateline Matrimony
Gina Wilkins

www.millsandboon.co.uk

GINA WILKINS

is a bestselling and award-winning author who has written more than fifty novels for Harlequin and Silhouette Books. She credits her successful career in romance to her long, happy marriage and her three extraordinary children.

A lifelong resident of central Arkansas, Ms. Wilkins sold her first book to Harlequin in 1987 and has been writing full-time since. She has appeared on the Waldenbooks, B. Dalton and USA Today bestseller lists. She is a three-time recipient of the Maggie Award for Excellence, sponsored by Georgia Romance Writers, and has won several awards from the reviewers of Romantic Times Magazine.

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Epilogue

Chapter One

The man with the sharp gray eyes was back for breakfast. It was Friday morning, and it was the third time he’d come in during Teresa’s first week on the job in the Rainbow Café. Still she hadn’t gotten any more comfortable with him. On each occasion he had been reasonably well behaved, but there was something about him that made her nervous.

He flirted with her—not overtly, but with an underlying impudence that made her wonder if he was mocking her. What was it he found amusing about her? Was he one of those smug and superior types who thought everyone else was slightly beneath his intellectual level, especially a waitress in a small-town diner? He looked the type, she decided, then chided herself for making judgments about a man she didn’t even know.

“What can I get you this morning?” she asked him.

She had never seen him open the menu, but he always had his order ready when she asked. “Denver omelette with a side order of salsa. And coffee. Black.”

“Biscuits or toast?”

“Toast. Has anyone ever mentioned that you look a bit like Grace Kelly?”

“Oh, sure. I get compared to dead movie-star princesses all the time,” she answered airily. She’d decided the first time she met him that he enjoyed disconcerting people with off-the-wall comments, and she’d quickly decided that the best way to respond was in kind and without making it personal. She figured this guy didn’t need any encouragement. “I’ll be right back with your coffee.”

She made another couple of stops on the return trip with the coffee carafe. Two elderly gentlemen, old friends who met in the diner every morning for breakfast, flirted outrageously with her when she refilled their coffee cups. She deflected their teasing easily, comfortable with them as she couldn’t seem to be with the gray-eyed man watching her from the back table.

Though most of the customers were pleasant enough, there’d been a few who were rude, one or two whose innuendos went a little over the line, even a couple who were downright obnoxious. Having worked as a waitress before, she handled them all skillfully. The man who’d introduced himself to her only as Riley didn’t fit any of those descriptions. He just made her…nervous.

“You aren’t letting those guys turn your head with their flattery, are you?” he asked when she approached his table again to fill his cup. “Old Ernie thinks he’s a real Romeo. He’s probably proposed to you two or three times already.”

She poured his coffee and answered blandly, “They seem quite nice.”

It appeared to her that his smile turned faintly mocking again. “Do you say that about everyone you serve here?”

“Not everyone.” With that subtle zinger, she stepped away from the table. “I’ll go check on your food.”

She didn’t hurry to the kitchen, stopping twice on the way to refill coffee cups and check on customers. Letting the kitchen door swing closed behind her, she set the carafe down with a thump. “That guy is just strange,” she muttered.

Shameka Cooper looked up from the pancakes and sausage links sizzling on a large griddle in front of her. “Which guy is that, hon?”

“Around thirty, brown hair sort of falling in his face, silvery gray eyes. Attitude.”

Shameka didn’t even have to glance toward the pass-through window that gave her a view of the dining room. “Sounds like Riley O’Neal.”

“Yes, he said his name is Riley. Is he a jerk, or have I gotten a bad first impression?”

Shameka responded with the deep chuckle that had drawn Teresa to her from the beginning. “Oh, Riley’s a sweetie who comes across as a jerk. Usually you just want to hug him, even though there are times you’d really like to whomp him a good one.”

Teresa couldn’t imagine actually hugging the guy, though she could picture herself wanting to whomp him. “He acts so smug,” she said. “As if he knows something I don’t. Something he finds amusing.”

“That’s Riley. And that’s exactly why some folks don’t care much for him. Myself, I’ve always gotten a kick out of him. He’s not half as cynical as he pretends to be. He just thinks it goes with his image—you know, hard-nosed reporter.”

“He’s a reporter?” Teresa curled her lip. No wonder he acted so bored and worldly.

“Sure. He works for the Evening Star. That sort of makes him a co-worker of ours, I guess, since the family that owns this diner also owns the newspaper. Marjorie’s daughter and son-in-law run the paper, while Marjorie keeps the diner going.”

“Great,” Teresa muttered. It was Marjorie—the mother of her college roommate—who had given Teresa this job. Marjorie Schaffer was one of the nicest people Teresa had ever met, and she’d bet the older woman had a soft spot for the carelessly charming reporter.

“You’ll like him once you get to know him,” Shameka assured her with a broad smile. “Nearly everyone does. Just don’t let him give you any guff. Here’s his breakfast.”

Even as she accepted the well-filled plate, Teresa found herself doubting that she and Riley O’Neal would ever be friends.

Riley considered himself one of the most misunderstood men in his small Arkansas town. He knew who and what he was—but many people tended to get mistaken ideas about him.

There were some who deemed him lazy. He wasn’t, of course—it was just that he did most of his work in his head. Others thought his pointed humor was evidence of a sarcastic and cynical nature. He thought of himself more as a droll observer of human foibles. Some called him blunt and tactless, but he just tried to be honest.

Dubbed a loner by many, he simply valued his privacy. He needed peace and quiet for his writing, something he couldn’t get with a bunch of people around all the time. On those occasions when he was in the mood for company, he found it. That hardly made him a loner—did it?

Because he could savor a cup of coffee in peace there, he had decided to have breakfast at the Rainbow Café last Monday morning. He’d known the owner, Marjorie Schaffer, for a long time and was almost as comfortable in her diner as he was in his own kitchen. There were always plenty of greetings, of course, when he arrived. Edstown wasn’t very big, and he’d lived there most of his life. Because of that and his job as a reporter for the Edstown Evening Star, he knew many of the local citizens. They also knew him well enough to leave him alone while he read his newspaper and ate his breakfast.

He had opened the paper as soon as he settled into his seat, burying his face in the pages. It was an effective deterrent to conversational overtures—and besides, he really enjoyed reading the newspaper. He had an appreciation for the little local paper that paid his salary—the few real news stories on the front page, the local gossip and trivia on the inside pages, the cooking section edited by a retired, eighty-year-old former home-ec teacher, the sports pages written by rotating high school sportscaster wannabes. The Edstown Evening Star had its own charm, its own place in this town, but it was the statewide morning paper Riley perused to stay connected with the rest of the world.

He’d been surprised when someone new had taken his order that morning—and even more surprised that the new server was a real knockout. Shoulder-length dark blond hair streaked with gold was neatly secured at the back of her neck. Clear blue eyes framed with long, skillfully darkened lashes dominated her heart-shaped face. Her nose was straight and perfectly proportioned, and she needed no cosmetic enhancement to make the most of naturally rosy, sweetly curved lips. Her chin was a little pointed, he had decided, trying to be objective—but he liked the shallow dimple there.

Maybe it had been that enticing dimple that had brought him back two more times in the past week, even though he usually visited the diner for breakfast no more than once or twice a month.

His newspaper forgotten for a moment, Riley watched her walk away after taking his order Friday morning. Nice figure, he noted, not for the first time. Not too thin—he’d never been drawn to the bony supermodel type. As befitted the ultra-casual atmosphere of the place, she wore jeans with a long-sleeved white cotton shirt and sneakers. The jeans fit very well, he observed, his gaze lingering for a moment on her shapely derriere.

He guessed that she was close to his own age, thirty. She didn’t wear a wedding ring—no jewelry at all, actually, except for a no-frills wristwatch. She was new in town and probably didn’t know many people yet. He’d decided to give her a call some time when he was in the mood to go out, though she hadn’t given him much encouragement so far.

She returned quickly with his breakfast. “Is there anything else I can get for you?”

A half dozen flip responses leaped into his mind. Casual flirting had always come easily to him, and there were plenty of women who’d reciprocated. Because she seemed to be braced for just such a remark, he bit back the innuendos and answered circumspectly. “Not right now, thank you.”

“All right. I’ll be back soon to refill your coffee.”

“Thanks. By the way, what’s your last name, Teresa?” He should know that by now, he thought, having met her three times so far. He must be getting slow.

“Scott,” she answered without elaboration. “Excuse me, one of my other customers is signaling for me.”

He wouldn’t exactly call her friendly, he mused as she turned to leave. Polite enough—but only to the point that her job required. Could be a challenge.

He smiled. When it didn’t require too much effort on his part, Riley enjoyed the occasional challenge.

“So, have you gotten a good look at that pretty new waitress over at the Rainbow Café yet?” Bud O’Neal asked his nephew Sunday afternoon.

Riley nodded toward the television screen in front of him. “I’m trying to watch the race, Bud.”

“They’re running under a caution flag now. You’re not going to miss anything by answering my question. Have you seen the new waitress yet?”

Dragging his gaze from the NASCAR race, Riley shoved a hand through his shaggy hair. “I’ve seen her.”

Bud gave a cackle. “So I’ve heard.”

Riley shook his head in exasperation. “Then why did you ask?”

“I hear you’ve suddenly become a regular at the diner. Some folks that say you’ve been having trouble taking your eyes off the pretty waitress.”

“Yeah, well, we both know there’s nothing folks in this town like better than fabricating gossip out of thin air.” Riley turned pointedly toward the television and lifted a can of soda to his lips to signal that he considered the subject closed.

He knew, of course, that Bud wouldn’t cooperate. He was right. “You always did like leggy, big-eyed blondes,” Bud drawled, obviously having a fine time needling his only nephew.

Riley heaved an exaggerated sigh. “What do you want me to say? I’ll admit she’s nice to look at. And maybe I’ve flirted with her a couple of times. But when I did, she nearly gave me frostbite with those big, cold blue eyes of hers. So, if you’re finished making fun of me, let’s get back to watching the race.”

There were few people Riley would have allowed such leeway, but he was fond of his uncle. Besides, Bud was still recovering from the tragic death of one of his two closest friends earlier that year. It was good to see him smile again, even if it was at Riley’s expense.

Bud’s smile turned to a scowl. “She shot you down? What’s wrong with the girl?”

“Nothing’s wrong with her, as far as I can tell. She’s just not interested. Not everyone is, you know. I’m not quite the lady-killer you seem to think I am.”

Bud snorted. “I’ve never seen a woman yet who didn’t come around when you gave it your best shot. So, only thing I can figure is, either you’ve decided the pretty waitress ain’t worth the effort—or you’re just taking your time about going after her.”

“Would you stop calling her the pretty waitress? She has a name. Teresa.”

Bud’s bushy, steel-gray eyebrows shot upward in response to his nephew’s testy tone. “Not that you’re interested, of course,” he murmured.

Riley looked pointedly at the big-screen TV. “Watch the race. They’re going green again.”

Knowing when he’d pushed hard enough, Bud crossed his hands over his beer-swollen belly and leaned back against the couch. His feet, like Riley’s, were crossed on the scarred coffee table in front of them. They sat in the living room of Bud’s double-wide mobile home, salvaged from his second divorce five years ago, after dining on a Sunday lunch of chili dogs and Tater Tots.

Riley and Bud tried to get together like this often, since they were the only members of their family still living in Edstown. Sixty-five-year-old Bud had never had children, so he’d always taken a rather fatherly interest in his only brother’s only son, especially after Riley’s parents had retired to Florida almost ten years ago while Riley was a senior in college.

Watching the brightly painted advertising-covered stock cars whizzing past the cameras, Riley changed the subject by asking, “How’s R.L. these days? I haven’t seen him much since he retired from the insurance business.”

“We’re going fishing Wednesday morning. Meeting here at a quarter till six. You want to go with us?”

“No, thanks. I’ll pass. I’m planning on sleeping in that morning.”

“Wuss,” Bud muttered with a chuckle.

“Hey, it’s chilly out on a lake at dawn in the middle of September. There are some parts of my body I don’t want to risk freezing off, okay? I’m not quite finished with them yet.”

Bud laughed, then shook his head. “I keep telling you, you don’t get cold if you dress right. And come mid-morning, it still gets downright hot this time of year.”

“No, really, Bud. Thanks, but it’s just not my thing. You and R.L. go and have a good time, okay?”

“I’m sure we will. ’Course, we’ll miss Truman.”

Riley nodded somberly, never knowing quite what to say when his uncle brought up Truman’s name.

Truman Kellogg, who’d been practically inseparable from Bud O’Neal and R. L. Hightower for nearly fifty years, had died in a house fire almost eight months ago. The remaining two buddies had taken the death hard. Bud hadn’t really been the same since.

Had his pal’s death forced him to confront his own mortality? Or was it simply that he’d never imagined a time when the three of them wouldn’t all be together? The friendship had lasted through their school years, Bud’s and R.L.’s marriages and divorces, the death of Truman’s wife several years ago, good and bad economic turns—it was only natural, Riley supposed, that Bud and R.L. were having a hard time dealing with their loss.

“Good grief, will you look at that?” Bud shook his head in dismay as several cars in the race crashed into the wall and each other. “That wreck’ll put a bunch of ’em behind the wall, I bet.”

“Damn. Martin didn’t have a chance to avoid the mess,” Riley muttered, looking morosely at the formerly sleek race car that was now smashed on both ends from the chain-reaction collisions. The Arkansas-native driver Riley usually rooted for was unharmed, but there was no chance he’d finish the race. “He’s had a hell of a season, hasn’t he? One thing right after another.”

“I know the feeling,” Bud said morosely. And then, before Riley could comment, he asked, “You sure you don’t want me to talk to that pretty little waitress for you? I bet I could convince her you’re not as bad as you’ve probably come across to her.”

“Stay out of my love life.”

Bud snorted, making a visible effort to cheer up. “What love life? Looks to me like you could use all the help you can get. You want another drink?”

“No. And I’m serious, Bud. Don’t you say a word to Teresa.”

His uncle grinned as he headed for the kitchen, leaving Riley feeling decidedly wary.

Riley was on his way to the newspaper office after a routine interview with the mayor Monday afternoon when he spotted Teresa Scott stranded on the side of the road. She was standing beside an aging sedan, looking at a flat tire on the right rear, her pretty face darkened by a frown. He promptly pulled his classic two-seater to the side of the road behind her car.

“Looks like you’ve got a problem,” he said, climbing out of his car.

He could tell that she recognized him immediately. He would have described her expression as resigned. He could almost hear her thinking, “Of course he would be the one to show up now.”

“I can handle it,” she said instead. “It’s only a flat.”

He shoved his hands in the pockets of his jeans while he studied the problem. The tire was deflated down to the rim. “Have you ever changed a flat before?”

“Once,” she replied, probably unaware of the touch of uncertainty in her voice.

“Pop the trunk,” he said, pulling off his thin leather jacket and tossing it into his car. He didn’t want to risk getting it dirty, and it was too warm a day for it, anyway. He just liked wearing it. “I hope you’ve got a jack and a spare.”

“I have both—but I’m quite capable of changing the flat myself.”

“I’m sure you are, but since I’m here, and since I’m hoping to impress you with my efficiency—not to mention my gallantry—I’d be happy to volunteer my services.”

“But I—”

“No strings,” he added. “You don’t even have to thank me, if you don’t want to. Open the trunk, will you?”

She sighed and shoved her key into the trunk lock. “I don’t mean to sound ungrateful for your help. I’m just accustomed to taking care of my own problems.”

“No, really?” He bent into the neat-as-a-pin trunk, thinking she must vacuum it twice a week. He could have a picnic in there, it was so clean.

“Yes. It’s…easier that way.”

“I agree. Hmm. Full-size spare. You don’t see those very often any more. Note the way my muscles flex as I lift it effortlessly from the trunk.”

From the corner of his eye, he watched her struggle against a smile. “Very impressive,” she said dryly.

“Do anything for you?”

“Yes. It makes me glad you’re the one lifting it and not me.”

“Not exactly the reaction I was hoping for,” he replied in a pseudo-grumble, kneeling beside the flat. She stood out of his way as he went to work.

“There’s your problem.” He pointed to a large metal screw gleaming from within the tread. “Looks like you ran over it recently and the air’s been escaping ever since.”

“A screw? That’s what caused the flat?”

He lifted an eyebrow. “You were expecting me to say that someone slashed your tires?”

“Of course not,” she said, looking more annoyed than amused by his teasing.

He often seemed to have that effect on her.

After a few moments Teresa conceded almost reluctantly, “You do that very well. You’ll have it finished a lot more quickly than I would have.”

He spun the lug wrench, unable to resist adding a bit of flair to the movement. “When I was a kid, I wanted to be on the pit crew of a NASCAR team.”

“What changed your mind?”

“I found out it was hard work. Involved sweat and dirt and stuff like that. Not for me. I’m content now to just watch the races on TV.”

She looked at him as if she weren’t quite sure whether he was joking. “So you gave up your boyhood dream because of laziness?”

“Exactly,” he answered readily. “Writing’s a lot easier. I hardly ever break a sweat doing that.”

“I would think that being a reporter for the local newspaper is a fairly demanding career.”

Without pausing at his task, he gave a bark of laughter. “Working for the Evening Star? Have you actually seen the local newspaper?”

“Well, no. I just moved here a couple of weeks ago and I…”

“Take my word for it. Real news happens maybe once a month during an exciting year in this town, and there are two of us on staff to cover it. Basically it’s a part-time job for me—which leaves me free to pursue other interests.”

“Yes, I heard you’re writing a novel.”

Riley looked over his shoulder. Had she been asking about him? He rather liked that idea. “Did you?”

“Marjorie told me,” she said with a shrug that instantly deflated his swelling ego. “She tells me about nearly everyone who comes into the diner. She didn’t seem to think you’d mind.”

“Harmless gossip is one of Marjorie’s favorite pastimes. I wouldn’t dream of depriving her of it.” He tightened the last lug nut, then lowered and removed the jack. “Ready to roll.”

“I really do appreciate this, Mr. O’Neal. Thank you.”

“Riley,” he corrected her. “And you’re welcome.”

He loaded the jack and flat in her trunk and closed it with a snap. And then, because he could tell she was expecting him to make another attempt to flirt with her, he moved toward his own car. “Drive carefully, Teresa. See you around.”

She was still blinking in surprise when he closed his door and started his engine. He found himself grinning as he drove away after lingering only long enough to make sure she was safely in her own vehicle.

He had never liked being overly predictable. But he would be flirting with her again eventually. It was too much fun to resist.

Chapter Two

Riley had never dealt well with rejection. It was a facet of his personality that he freely acknowledged and accepted as unalterable. He would even go so far as to admit that he was rather spoiled to having his own way.

An indulged only child of older parents and the only grandson on either side of his family, he’d never had to compete for attention or affection. Grades and friends had come easily to him in school, and he had enough trust money from his late grandparents to allow him to live comfortably, if not lavishly.

His job with the Edstown Evening Star was hardly lucrative, but he enjoyed it for the most part. It forced him to interact with other people on a regular basis, counteracting his natural inclination to hole up alone with his books, his music and his imagination. And yet the undemanding structure of the job gave him plenty of freedom to do just that when he wanted. He’d been known to disappear into the duplex apartment he owned for days at a time without making an appearance unless he was truly needed at the newspaper.

It was probably his aversion to rejection that had kept him from submitting one of his fantasy novels to a publisher. While characteristically confident about his talent, he was realistic enough to accept that most aspiring writers had to deal with at least a few rejections along the road to publication. He wasn’t sure how he would react to anyone turning down his submission. Until he was ready to find out, he told himself he was content writing for his own pleasure.

He’d rarely encountered rejection from women, either. Maybe it was because he didn’t issue invitations without being fairly confident they would be accepted, but his success rate in that area—as in the other parts of his life—was quite high. He had definitely become spoiled.

Teresa Scott was threatening to ruin his impressive record.

Emboldened by their amiable encounter on the side of the road, he’d asked her out three times during the past two weeks. Though she’d been friendlier to him since he’d changed her tire for her, she’d turned him down every time. Politely, even amusingly, but very firmly. She’d made it clear enough that there was no reason for him to keep asking, but that hadn’t stopped him.

So far, he’d asked her to dinner, to a movie and to a high school football game that he had to cover for the paper. Rather than becoming annoyed or discouraged by her consistent rebuffs, he was beginning to see them as a form of entertainment. He figured he might as well keep asking—just to watch her reactions. And who knew, she might change her mind if he was persistent enough.

She filled his coffee cup on the Friday morning almost three weeks after their first meeting. “What would you like today?” she asked.

“A date with you,” he replied promptly. “How about tonight?”

“I’m painting my fingernails tonight. What do you want for breakfast?”

Chuckling at her rejection, he replied, “I’m in the mood for oatmeal today. With fruit, toast and coffee. How’s your schedule for tomorrow night? Are you free then?”

“No, that’s when I paint my toenails to match my fingernails. I’ll go turn in your order now.”

She’d shot him down again, but he was pretty sure he’d seen a fleeting glimmer of amusement in her blue eyes. Maybe he hadn’t won her over yet—but she found him somewhat entertaining. It was a start.

Okay, so he was reaching, he admitted with a wry smile as he lifted his coffee cup. But still, there was always a chance….

“Hey, Riley.”

Glancing up, Riley smiled. “Hey, Chief. What’s up?”

Chief of Police Dan Meadows slid into a chair on the other side of Riley’s table without waiting for an invitation—but then, he knew he didn’t need one. “Lindsey’s covering some sort of early meeting this morning, so I’m on my own for breakfast.”

Riley shuddered dramatically. “It’s the annual PTA breakfast at the middle school. Some bigwig from the state department of education is there to make a speech, and a bunch of sixth graders are putting on a musical production. Lindsey offered me the assignment, but I let her take it—I knew she’d hate to miss a program like that.”

Dan chuckled. “Very noble of you.”

“I thought so. I’m sure glad you married Lindsey and convinced her to stay in Edstown instead of taking a job with one of the big newspapers. If she’d left, I’d be the one listening to a bunch of moppets warbling off-key at this hour in the morning.”

“Happy to oblige.”

Riley found his friend’s drawled response amusing—as if Dan had only wed Lindsey a few weeks ago to keep her from leaving the Evening Star. Lindsey had been in love with Dan for years—but Dan had been a bit slower to acknowledge his feelings. He’d made up for that by losing no time marrying her. Dan wasn’t one to put his emotions on display, but Riley had noticed a new glow of contentment in his friend’s eyes since the wedding.

Teresa returned to set Riley’s breakfast in front of him. She glanced at Dan, who was studying her curiously. “Good morning. Would you like a menu?”

“No, that’s not necessary. I’ll have scrambled eggs, ham and grits.”

“Toast or biscuits?”

“Toast.”

Riley looked from one to the other. “Have you two been introduced? No? Teresa Scott, this is Dan Meadows.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Ms. Scott.”

“You, too, Mr. Meadows.”

“Chief Meadows,” Riley corrected her. “Dan’s chief of police here in Edstown.”

Teresa looked momentarily surprised, but she recovered quickly. “Is that right?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Dan drawled. “You be sure and let me know if there’s anything I can do for you, you hear?”

While Riley grinned at his friend’s old-west-lawman imitation, Teresa nodded. “Well, actually, I have encountered one suspicious character since I moved here.”

“Who’s that, ma’am? Someone I should keep an eye on?”

“Looks like you already are,” she replied, glancing pointedly toward Riley. “I’ll be right back with your coffee, Chief.”

Dan was smiling when Teresa walked away. “I think she just zinged you, pal.”

“Trust me, it’s not the first time she’s done so.”

“She seems nice.”

Riley nodded and dug into his cooling breakfast.

“Pretty, too,” Dan added, glancing across the room.

“I noticed.”

“Have you asked her out?”

“Yep.”

“And…”

“Crashed and burned. Every time.”

Dan chuckled. “Pretty and intelligent.”

Teresa returned to set a mug of coffee in front of Dan. “Your breakfast will be ready soon.”

“Hey, Teresa, there’s a symphony concert in Little Rock next weekend. Want to go with me?” Riley asked.

“Sorry. I’m washing my hair that night,” she answered pleasantly.

“I didn’t tell you which night the concert’s being held,” he reminded her.

She didn’t miss a beat. “I didn’t say which night I’m washing my hair.”

“Oh, man.” Dan shook his head as Teresa moved away. “You went down in flames, buddy.”

“Yeah, but did you see her eyes? She said no, but what she wanted to say was—”

“Hell, no.”

Riley snorted in response to Dan’s droll interruption. “Scoff if you like—but I’m getting to her. She won’t be able to resist my charms much longer.”

“Is that right?” Dan glanced up when Teresa set his breakfast on the table. “Riley thinks he’s getting to you,” he said gravely.

“He’s right,” she murmured, refilling their coffee cups. “He’s definitely getting on my nerves.”

“You know, we should talk about that. How about over dinner tonight?” Riley suggested.

“Sorry. I’m going to be ill tonight. Excuse me, I have orders to serve.”

“I think I like her,” Dan murmured appreciatively.

“Just help me pull this knife out of my chest, will you?” Riley pantomimed the motion as he spoke.

“A knife?” Dan asked blandly. “Or is that one of Cupid’s arrows?”

“Very funny. Eat your breakfast.”

Dan obligingly picked up his fork, though his brown eyes still gleamed with amusement that was most definitely at Riley’s expense.

Okay, so the guy was amusing. Teresa had found herself looking forward to the days when Riley O’Neal had breakfast in the diner.

She wasn’t particularly flattered by his frequent invitations for dates. She suspected that he was the type who’d make a play for any reasonably attractive new woman who entered his life. But it was still nice to see a look of appreciation in an attractive man’s eyes. It gave her a glimmer of hope that someday…maybe…she’d meet someone to share her life with again. Someday far in the future.

“I think he’s got a thing for you.” Marjorie Schaffer winked at Teresa as she whispered her revelation.

Looking up from the table she was wiping with a damp cloth, Teresa wrinkled her nose. “Old Ernie? I think he proposes to every woman who crosses his path.”

“Of course he does. Ernie even proposes to me at least twice a week. But I was talking about Riley O’Neal. Everyone has noticed the way he’s been coming in here almost every day to flirt with you.”

“Riley’s as much of a habitual flirt as old Ernie. I don’t take either of them seriously.”

“He sure has been coming around a lot since you started working here. Used to be he’d only eat here once or twice a month, tops. Now it’s three or four times a week.”

“Really?” Teresa was a bit surprised by that. She’d assumed Riley had always been a regular. She found it hard to believe he’d changed his daily schedule just because she was serving coffee here.

Maybe it was a little flattering….

She hefted a tray of dishes and moved toward the doorway. “I’ll leave you to your romantic fantasizing,” she teased her friend and employer lightly. “I have customers waiting.”

Teresa was still thinking about Marjorie’s words as she approached Riley’s table with the coffee carafe a few minutes later. Maybe he really was interested in taking her out. Not that she was in a position to get involved with anyone, but it gave her something to daydream about.

She stopped at the table next to the one where Riley and his friend were conversing as they finished their breakfasts. As she refilled the cups of the middle-aged couple sitting there, she couldn’t help overhearing a snatch of Riley’s conversation.

“I hope your wife’s enjoying the middle school program,” Riley was saying to the police chief. “I’d rather eat mud pies myself than listen to that bunch of kids mangling Disney movie songs.”

Dan chuckled. “You know you don’t really dislike kids as much as you pretend.”

“Nah, they’re okay. As long as I don’t actually have to listen to them sing, or watch them dance or act in school plays. Or share a plane ride with them. Or a movie theater. Or a restaurant. Or—”

Dan was laughing quietly when he cut in. “Okay, I get the picture.”

So did Teresa.

She wasn’t really disappointed, she assured herself. She hadn’t seriously considered accepting a date with him. She wasn’t interested in dating anyone right now. Especially a man who’d just made it crystal clear how entirely wrong he was for her.

She filled the police chief’s cup first, and then Riley’s. “Is there anything else I can get for you gentlemen?”

“I’ll take the check,” Riley said. “I like to stay on the chief’s good side—just in case I ever need a ticket fixed or anything.”

“I wish you’d stop saying things like that,” Dan said, sounding rather exasperated. “People who don’t know better might think there’s some truth in what you’ve implied.”

Teresa smiled faintly. “Don’t worry, Chief. I take very little of what he says seriously.”

“I said she was intelligent,” Dan said to Riley, who was giving Teresa an exaggeratedly aggrieved look.

“If there’s nothing else you need, I’ll get your check,” she said, taking a step back from the table.

“You’re sure you won’t reconsider my dinner invitation for tonight?” Riley asked enticingly.

“I’m quite sure,” she said in a tone cool enough to freeze the smile from his face. No teasing this time—no humorous rejoinders or implied maybes. This was a flat-out no, and she wanted him to recognize it as such.

There was no need for either of them to harbor the delusion that there would ever be a date—or anything else—between them.

Riley didn’t make a habit of talking to kids. For one thing, he never knew quite what to say to them. And parents frowned on strangers approaching their offspring—rightly so, of course. So, all in all, it seemed safer to just stay away from the tykes.

He was sitting in a city park with a book on a pleasantly cool afternoon during the first week of October when a snub-nosed urchin approached him.

“Hi,” the kid—who looked to be about ten—said.

Resting the paperback on his knee, Riley studied the boy a moment before coming to the conclusion that he’d never seen him before. “Hi.”

“Whatcha doing?”

Riley sat on a concrete picnic bench, his back to the table, facing the small, pretty lake that was the center of the park. A can of soda and the remains of a burger and fries were scattered on the table behind him. He figured it was pretty obvious that he was taking advantage of a nice, warm day to picnic, read and commune with nature for a while, but apparently the boy was simply trying to start a conversation.

“I’m just taking a break from work,” he said. “What are you doing?”

“I’m going to feed the ducks.” The boy held up a clear plastic bag filled with bread cubes.

Riley looked toward the lake, where several hungry-looking ducks were starting to congregate nearby, apparently deciding the boy looked like a promising food source. “I’m sure they’ll like that. How come you aren’t in school?”

“No school today,” the kid announced with pleasure. “It’s a teacher workday.”

Glancing around at the few other people in the park, none of whom seemed to be monitoring the boy’s actions, Riley asked, “You aren’t here by yourself, are you?”

“No, my sitter’s with me. Well, she’s in the rest room with my little sister. I’m supposed to wait for them before I start feeding the ducks, because Maggie gets mad if I start without her.”

“Maggie’s your sister?”

“Yep. My name’s Mark.”

Because it seemed like the right thing to do, Riley extended his hand. “Nice to meet you, Mark. I’m Riley.”

The boy pumped Riley’s hand gravely. “It’s nice to meet you, too. Now you’re not a stranger, right? It’s okay for us to talk, right?”

Riley couldn’t help chuckling. “Weren’t we strangers a few minutes ago—when you first spoke to me?”

The boy gave the question only a moment’s consideration before replying airily, “I was just being polite then.”

Although amused by the kid’s logic, Riley thought it was probably time for him to offer some wise-adult advice. “Maybe you’d better not be quite so polite to strangers when your sitter isn’t around.”

“I don’t talk to bad strangers,” Mark replied confidently. “Only nice ones like you.”

“But…” Riley paused and drew a deep breath, feeling himself hovering on the verge of stammering. This kid had an answer for everything. Must keep his parents on their toes all the time.

“Uh-oh! Mark’s talking to a stranger again. I’m going to tell Mom.”

The shrill announcement from behind them brought Mark’s chin up defensively. “He’s not a stranger. His name’s Riley and he’s my friend.”

The teenager trailing after Mark’s blond, blue-eyed little sister was someone Riley recognized. “Hi, Jenny.”

Her heavily mascaraed eyes lit up. “Hey, Riley. What are you doing here?”

“You know each other?” Mark seemed pleased.

“Oh, sure, I’ve known Jenny since she was younger than you.”

“Riley used to date my older sister,” Jenny confided to Mark with a giggle. “But she stopped going out with him because he wasn’t the marrying kind and she wanted someone who was.”

Riley cleared his throat and quickly changed the subject. “So your school is out today, too, Jenny?”

“Yes. They all are. So I’m making a little extra money watching my neighbor’s kids until their mom gets off work.”

Mark and Maggie had already headed for the hopeful-looking ducks that had gathered on the grass at the edge of the lake. The moment Mark reached a hand into the bag and tossed a handful of bread cubes onto the ground, the ducks went wild, quacking and jostling for the food, making the children laugh at their eager antics.

“This is just a suggestion,” Riley murmured to Jenny, “and of course I don’t know much about kids or baby-sitting, but you might want to keep a closer eye on Mark. He’s pretty chatty with strangers.”

Jenny bit her lip. “I know. The kid’s a real talker, and he’s curious about everyone and everything. His mom says he’s probably going to be a politician or something because he wants to talk to everyone he sees. I told him to stay close to the rest rooms while I was inside with his sister, but I guess he saw you and just couldn’t resist striking up a conversation. I’ll talk to him about it on the way home.”

“Good idea. He needs to know he can’t just start talking to any strange guy sitting in a park.”

Jenny giggled again. “You’re not a strange guy.”

“Your sister might disagree with that comment,” Riley murmured, his smile wry.

“Hey, Riley,” Mark shouted. “You want to feed a duck?”

Riley reached for the portion of bun left over from his hamburger. “Feeding ducks just happens to be one of my favorite pastimes.”

It was another generally held misconception that Riley didn’t like children. It was true he didn’t go to great lengths to seek them out, so he hadn’t spent a great deal of time with them on the whole, but he didn’t actively dislike them.

He enjoyed the time he spent feeding the ducks with Mark, Maggie and Jenny. Mark chattered almost endlessly, pelting Riley with a barrage of questions and humorous comments. A bit more shy at first, Maggie soon joined in the fun, treating Riley like a longtime friend, much the same way Jenny behaved toward him.

Knowing there were several people who’d be surprised to see him in this situation, Riley still had a good time. Cute tots, he thought. If more kids were as entertaining and well-behaved as these two—or three, if one counted a teenager as a kid—Riley wouldn’t feel compelled to avoid them quite so often.

Still, it wasn’t long before he glanced at his watch and said, “I’d better be going. I have a lot to do this afternoon.”

Jenny checked the time on her own watch. “Oh, gosh, we’d better go, too. The kids’ mom will be home soon.”

It was only two-thirty in the afternoon. Apparently, Mark and Maggie’s mom worked the early shift. A part-time job, perhaps.

“It was great seeing you, Riley,” Jenny said as she herded her charges toward the parking area.

“You, too. Give my best to your family.”

“I will. Bye, Riley.”

“Bye, Riley,” Maggie parroted, waving.

“See ya around, Riley,” Mark called over his shoulder.

“Yeah. See you around.” Who knew…it was a small town. Maybe they would see each other around sometime.

It occurred to him only then that he’d never gotten the kids’ last name. It was entirely possible that he knew their parents, though he couldn’t place them with anyone at the moment.

Cute kids, he thought again as he drove his car out of the parking lot. Their parents were obviously doing something right raising them. Not a job he wanted himself—way too much responsibility and pressure for Riley—but some folks seemed to have a talent for it.

He just didn’t happen to be one of them.

Chapter Three

For some reason, Riley’s thoughts were turned to past events as he entered the Edstown High School football stadium that weekend, along with a crowd of local football fans.

It had been several months since young Eddie Stamps had been arrested for arson, bringing an end to a troubling series of local fires. Most of the buildings that had burned had been vacant, the fires more of a nuisance than a dangerous threat to the community. Two of the fires had had more serious repercussions.

The Hightower Insurance office had burned to the ground, destroying valuable personal records and expensive office equipment. Five employees had lost their jobs, since R. L. Hightower had decided to retire rather than rebuild. The most devastating incident had occurred two months before the insurance company fire, in mid-January. A small hunting cabin in the woods just outside of town had burned, killing Truman Kellogg, who’d died in bed of smoke inhalation.

Unlike the other fires, that had been the only one in which there’d been no clear-cut evidence of arson. The cause was still listed as undetermined. It had been a fluke that Kellogg had even been at his hunting cabin that night. He had visited it only infrequently during the past few years and almost never at that time of the year.

Eddie Stamps had finally confessed to most of the arsons, yet denied responsibility for the insurance company and the hunting cabin. Most locals believed he was willing to confess only to the fires with the least serious consequences, hoping for a lesser sentence. Dan had pointed out to Riley that there were some differences in those two fires, but he, too, suspected that Eddie might have been involved with them. The timing seemed too coincidental to believe otherwise.

Dan tended to believe that Truman’s death had been accidental. Since Truman so rarely stayed at the cabin, it was conceivable that the arsonist—if there was one in that case—could have believed the cabin was vacant. Because prosecutors had reluctantly decided to accept a plea bargain from Eddie’s attorney and charge him only with the fires he’d confessed to, it was possible no one would ever know whether Truman’s death had been the result of arson or merely a tragic accident.

Since Eddie’s arrest, news had been slow for the two reporters for the Evening Star. Lindsey stayed busy covering school programs and civic meetings and doing features on interesting locals. She shared hard news coverage with Riley, informally taking turns showing up when real news occurred. Riley’s regular responsibilities included attending and reporting on weekly city council meetings and sporting events and a twice-weekly column of biting political and social commentary.

The column was new, an idea of managing editor Cameron North. At first Riley had been reluctant to commit to the demands of a regular column. Cameron had talked him into it, assuring Riley that he could do most of his work at home, giving him plenty of freedom to work his own hours at his own pace, on the condition that he would produce two columns a week.

Riley enjoyed writing the columns more than he’d expected. It gave him a chance to get in a few digs at the mayor, the city council, local society leaders, the school board—he liked to think of himself as an equal opportunity needler. Even his friends weren’t entirely safe from his barbs. Dan and his police department had taken their share of hits from Riley’s keyboard.

“Hey, Riley.” The city attorney approached him at the Friday night high school football game, an aggrieved look on his broad, mocha-toned face. “That wasn’t an entirely fair column you ran today. Just because the state Supreme Court overturned one of our city ordinances doesn’t mean I don’t know my job. I honestly thought it would hold up in court.”

“C’mon, Dwayne, every business owner in town has been insisting that ordinance was unconstitutional since the council drafted it almost two years ago. Just because you and the mayor persuaded one lower court judge—a golfing buddy of the mayor’s, no less—to uphold it didn’t make it legal. As the state Supreme Court justices told you quite succinctly, by the way.”

Dwayne’s scowl deepened. “Now that’s just what I was talking about. You can’t accuse a judge of being influenced by a longtime acquaintance with the mayor.”

“Sure I can. Especially when it’s true.”

“Damn it, Riley—”

“Careful, Dwayne.” Riley skillfully sidestepped a mob of kids dashing recklessly toward the concession stand behind them. “There are innocent ears listening.”

He moved on before the mayor’s most devoted minion could get further wound up. Dwayne would get over this offense—until the next time Riley took aim at the local political scene.

“Riley!” A towheaded kid in fashionably oversize clothes skidded to a stop in front of him. A slightly smaller, more feminine figure tagged at the boy’s heels. “Hi. Remember us?”

“Mark,” Riley said, identifying the boy he’d met in the park a few days earlier. “And Maggie,” he added with a smile for the little girl. “Nice to see you again.”

“We’re going to get drinks and popcorn.” Almost shouting to be heard over the noise surrounding them, Mark waved a five-dollar bill in one hand as he pointed toward the nearby concession stand with the other. “Mom’s saving our seats. She said we have to stay close together, hurry back and don’t talk to anyone.”

“You’re talking to me.” Riley couldn’t help pointing it out.

“Well, yeah, but that’s different,” Mark replied with his usual airy disregard for details. “We know you.”

“Still, you’d better buy your snacks and get back to your mom before she starts to worry. I’ll catch you later, okay?”

“Okay. See you, Riley.”

“See you, Riley,” Maggie echoed, staying close to her brother as they joined the shortest line at the crowded booth.

Nodding toward the uniformed officer stationed by the concession stand, one of several on duty in the generally problem-free high school stadium, Riley moved toward the bleachers. It was almost time for kickoff. He wasn’t officially covering the game tonight—a high school senior with dreams of becoming a sportswriter had requested that privilege this evening—but Riley liked football and was a loyal supporter of the Edstown Eagles. He rarely missed a home game, even when he wasn’t being paid to attend.

The crowd was already pumped up and ready for the action to begin. The band played—loudly if not flawlessly—and maroon-and-gold clad cheerleaders and pom-pom girls bounced and chanted. An announcer’s voice boomed from scratchy speakers. The smells of fresh popcorn, hot dogs, nachos, coffee and hot chocolate wafted through the cool air. Young kids who couldn’t care less about football played tag on the grassy hill beside the bleachers, and groups of teenagers strutted and giggled while trying to impress the opposite gender.

Some things, he thought, never changed.

Nodding greetings to people he knew, he spotted an empty stretch of bench with a good view of the field. Climbing over a few outstretched legs, he claimed a spot, settling carefully onto the chilly aluminum seat. He glanced idly left, froze for a moment, then slowly smiled.

The woman sitting only a few feet away hadn’t noticed him yet. Her attention was focused on the cheerleaders, who were doing an intricately choreographed dance routine on the sidelines while the band members played enthusiastic accompaniment.

She seemed to be alone in the noisy crowd. Riley had every intention of changing that. He moved closer to her, waiting for her to recognize him.

Pulling her attention away from the field, Teresa glanced at her watch, then craned her head to look toward the concession stand as if looking for someone. Maybe she wasn’t alone. Maybe her date was getting drinks or something. Riley frowned.

And then she spotted him. Her eyebrows lifted in surprise at finding him sitting only a few feet away. He quickly turned his frown into a smile. “Hi.”

“Hello.” She could have been greeting a total stranger even though he knew that she’d recognized him.

She looked very pretty this evening, he mused. The thin red jacket, snug white pullover and faded jeans she wore were flattering to her—but then, most things would be. “So you’re a football fan?”

She shrugged. “I like football, though I prefer watching basketball.”

“Really? I like them both. But then, I like most sports.”

She glanced over her shoulder again and murmured something he didn’t quite catch because of the noise level around them.

He raised his voice a little, making sure she heard him. “Are you waiting for someone to join you?”

Still looking toward the concession stand, she replied, “Yes, as a matter of fact, I am.”

So that was why she hadn’t accepted any of his invitations. She was seeing someone else. He could deal with that, he supposed. But it didn’t mean he had to like it. He’d rather fancied the prospect of getting to know Teresa Scott much better. They could have had a great time—for a while. But they could still be casual friends. He had quite a few of those. “Anyone I know?” he asked, following her glance.

“No. Actually, I—”

“Hey, Riley. Want some popcorn?” Young Mark seemed to appear out of nowhere, stopping in front of Riley and holding out a fragrant, overfilled box of popcorn.

“I didn’t want popcorn. I got candy.” Maggie leaned companionably against Riley’s knee, gazing at him with a slightly flirtatious smile. “You want an M & M, Riley? You can have a blue one—they’re the prettiest.”

“Thanks, Maggie. You, too, Mark. But I’m not really hungry right now. Um—hadn’t you two better get to your seats? The game will start any minute.” He assumed they’d seen him sitting there and had impulsively come over to share their treats with him. Apparently, these two had decided he was their pal—which was all very well, but he doubted their folks would approve of them joining him without permission.

Rather than moving on, Mark settled onto the bench between Riley and Teresa. “I’m going to sit here.”

“But I want to sit by Riley,” Maggie protested.

Wondering where their parents were, Riley glanced at Teresa. She looked thoroughly startled, he thought. He couldn’t blame her, of course. She probably hadn’t expected him to be descended on by a couple of chatty kids.

“How on earth?” she began, only to be interrupted by Mark, who informed his sister that he had already claimed the spot by Riley.

“But I want to sit there!” Maggie glared at her brother, then at Teresa. “Mommy, make him move over.”

While Riley tried to decide if he’d heard Maggie correctly, Mark scooted defiantly closer, leaving no room for his sister. “You sit by Mom,” he insisted. “The guys can sit together, can’t we, Riley?”

“That’s not fair. Mommy!”

Her eyes still locked on Riley’s face, Teresa murmured absently, “Mark. Maggie. That’s enough.”

“You mean you’re—” Riley began.

“How did you—” Teresa started to say at the same time. Each fell silent to allow the other to speak.

Maggie settled the argument with her brother by climbing onto Riley’s knee and snuggling against his chest. “Will you open my candy for me?” she asked, holding the package up to him.

Either Riley had recently developed an irresistible magnetism for children, or these were the friendliest two kids he’d ever encountered. He was pretty sure that the last time he’d had an eight-year-old girl in his lap he’d been the same age. Debbie Glover had plopped herself down on his knee and tried to kiss him.

This scene was almost as disturbing.

Teresa tried again to speak over the pandemonium. “Riley, when did you meet my—”

“Please rise for the national anthem,” the announcer’s voice boomed from overhead.

“Stand up, Mom,” Mark urged, leaping to his feet.

Riley set Maggie on the bench beside him when he stood, keeping a hand on her shoulder to steady her. Teresa leaned closer to Riley as the band launched into the anthem and the crowd surrounding them began to sing. “Where did you meet my kids?”

“At the park the other day. But I didn’t know they were yours. I didn’t even know you had kids.”

“Shh,” Maggie whispered loudly. “You’re not s’posed to talk during the anthem. My teacher says it’s disrespectful.”

Properly chastised, Riley and Teresa fell silent, though they continued to give each other searching looks. Riley was trying to figure out how he could have known Teresa for almost a month without finding out she had two children.

With gossip such a popular pastime in this typical small town, he generally heard everything about everyone eventually. But then, Teresa was new in town and didn’t seem to have gotten involved in the community yet. With the exception of finding her on the side of a road with a flat tire, he’d never seen her anywhere other than the Rainbow Café.

So why hadn’t Marjorie told him about the children? All she had told Riley was that Teresa had met her younger daughter, Serena, in college and had come to her recently looking for a job. Marjorie had teased Riley about his obvious attraction to Teresa—without once mentioning that he’d been flirting with the mother of two. He couldn’t help wondering if that omission had been intentional. Marjorie knew him well enough to be aware of his policy against dating anyone with kids.

He’d been aware, of course, that Marjorie had been not so subtly nudging him toward asking Teresa out. Marjorie was a compulsive matchmaker, and he knew she’d never completely given up on fixing him up with someone despite his repeated admonitions to her that he wasn’t the marrying kind. But he’d never realized that dear, softhearted, well-intentioned lady could be downright devious.

The crowd remained on their feet as the two teams charged onto the field and held the kickoff. The Eagles were the receivers, taking the ball on their own twenty-five-yard line. Only then did Riley sit down. Maggie plopped onto his knee almost before he was fully settled. “I can see better here,” she announced, then popped a handful of candies in her mouth.

“Maggie, Mr. O’Neal wants to watch the game,” Teresa said, looking flustered. “Come sit on my lap.”

“I can see better here.” It seemed inconceivable to the little girl that her presence would not be desired anywhere.

“But—”

“She’s okay, Teresa.” Riley cut in. “I’ll send her to you if my leg goes to sleep.”

Her expression was a mixture of apology and bemusement. Apparently she was still having trouble understanding how Riley and her children had become so chummy.

He was having a little trouble figuring that out himself.

Mark wasn’t content to be ignored for long. He tapped Riley’s arm and pointed toward the field. “Why did the judges throw down those yellow flags? Who did something wrong?”

“They’re called referees,” Riley answered. “And the other team just got a fifteen-yard penalty because one of their players grabbed our receiver’s face mask to pull him down. It’s a stupid mistake—especially this early in the game—and a major violation because it could cause serious injuries. Our team is fifteen yards closer to a touchdown.”

“Now what are they doing?”

Riley patiently answered Mark’s questions and Maggie’s ramblings throughout the first quarter. It was very difficult, he discovered, to concentrate on the game with two kids competing for his attention. There was little chance to talk with Teresa, and he would certainly have felt awkward flirting with her in front of her children, anyway.

He was aware that he was drawing quite a bit of attention from the spectators around them. He had no doubt the word would soon be all over town that he’d attended a football game with Teresa Scott and her two kids. Wouldn’t that cause avid speculation?

He lasted until halftime. Maggie had fallen asleep by then—and so had Riley’s left arm. Growing bored with football, Mark had pulled a Gameboy out of his mother’s purse and was industriously pursuing Pokémon.

“I think I’d better head for the press box now,” Riley said, standing to deposit Maggie into her mother’s arms. “I promised to check in with our high school sports reporter to see if he needs any help.”

Which was at least partially true. Riley had told the young man he would read over the copy—but not necessarily during the game.

“Are you coming back? Can I come with you?” Mark asked eagerly.

Teresa interceded before Riley had to come up with a reply. “No,” she said firmly. “I think it’s time for us to go.”

“Go? But the game isn’t over,” the boy protested.

“Your sister is tired. Our team is ahead by three touchdowns. And you haven’t been watching the game, anyway.”

“Yes, I was.” Mark hastily hid the Gameboy behind his back.

“We’re leaving, Mark. End of discussion,” she added as he opened his mouth to continue the argument.

Riley noticed that the boy subsided immediately. There was no doubt who had the final say in that household.

After taking his leave of them, Riley headed for the press box in a pensive mood. He was stopped a couple of times by acquaintances who teased him about trying to get closer to the pretty waitress by being nice to her kids. Someone else asked him if he fancied himself in the role of step-daddy.

A sweet-faced matron, who was almost as avid a matchmaker as Marjorie and twice the gossip, patted his arm and told him how natural he’d looked holding a sleeping child. “I always thought you’d be a good father,” she added.

Riley made a hasty escape, then changed his course from the press box to the parking lot. The Eagles could carry on without him to cheer them, he decided.

He needed some time alone.

Long after the kids were sleeping in their beds, Teresa sat staring blindly at the flickering television in the living room of the small house she’d been renting since she’d moved to Edstown. She kept remembering the expression on Riley’s face when he’d left her at halftime—bolted, actually. It was a look she’d seen on the faces of other men during the past four and a half years—nearly every time they learned that she was the single mom of two preadolescents.

Something about her appearance obviously gave men the wrong impression about her. She usually kept her hair pulled off her face, wore a minimum of makeup and selected her clothes for comfort and practicality rather than sex appeal—but still men looked at her and saw a slender, blue-eyed blonde rather than a busy mother of two. Once they found out—well, they saw her differently then.

Riley O’Neal, of course, was no exception. Nor had she expected him to be.

She was still reeling from the shock of having her children greet Riley by name and then proceed to climb all over him as if they were longtime friends. Granted, her kids were gregarious—too much so at times. And she knew they were aware of the absence of a man in their lives—especially Mark. But couldn’t they tell when someone wasn’t entirely comfortable with children?

She’d asked Mark on the way home why he’d never mentioned meeting Riley at the park. Looking rather guilty, he’d replied that he hadn’t wanted to get in trouble for talking to strangers again—even though, he had added with a touch of defiance, Riley was a very nice stranger and not a bad one. She hadn’t had the energy to get into another circular discussion with him just then; she would start again on her precautionary lessons tomorrow.

Poor Riley had looked as though he hadn’t a clue what to do when Maggie had crawled into his lap. Teresa had tried to rescue him, but he’d politely allowed Maggie to stay—even though he’d acted as if he were afraid she might grow a second head or something equally bizarre.

He couldn’t seem to get away from them fast enough at halftime. Teresa supposed she couldn’t blame him for that.

It had only been chance that she’d been at the football game with her kids. Mark had heard about the game from some of his friends at school, and he’d asked to go. Because she thought it might be a way to get more involved in the community—a little at a time—and because it was a fairly inexpensive form of family entertainment, she had agreed. She’d certainly never expected to end up sitting next to Riley.

At least one thing had been accomplished tonight, she mused. The man who had told his friend that he wanted nothing to do with children had discovered that Teresa came with two of them. That would probably put an end to him asking her out. Maybe he would even find a new place to have breakfast for a while.

It wasn’t as if she’d expected anything to develop between them—or even wanted it to—but she would miss his flirting. A little. It had been amusing and maybe a little flattering. But she had other things to concentrate on, she thought, glancing at the apologetically worded eviction notice lying on her coffee table. This little rent house had been sold, and the new owners wanted to move in as soon as possible.

Teresa’s first order of business was to find a new place for her and her children to live. She would talk to Marjorie at work in the morning. If there was anyone who knew everything about this town, it was Marjorie Schaffer.

“It’s so nice of you to come with me to look at your friend’s place,” Teresa said to Marjorie Saturday afternoon. They had left the diner, which was open for breakfast and lunch six days a week, and were headed for a nearby neighborhood in which a friend of Marjorie’s had a duplex apartment for rent.

Teresa didn’t work Saturdays, and she had been able to hire Jenny to baby-sit for a few hours that afternoon to give her a chance to do some apartment hunting. At Marjorie’s suggestion, they’d met at the diner at closing time, leaving Marjorie’s car there.

Teresa couldn’t believe this had all happened so quickly. She’d merely mentioned to Marjorie on the phone that morning that she needed to find a place to rent. Within a few minutes, Marjorie called Teresa back with the news that she’d made arrangements for Teresa to look at her friend’s place.

Looking rather smug that she’d set things into motion so quickly, Marjorie replied, “You’re welcome, dear. I hope you like the duplex my friend owns.”

Teresa braked for a red light. “I’m sure I will, if you recommend it. You’ve never guided me wrong before.”

Marjorie cleared her throat. Teresa might have sworn the older woman looked vaguely guilty—but the light changed before she could ask if anything was wrong.

“Take the next left,” Marjorie advised. “It’s the last house on the right in the cul-de-sac.”

“This is a good location,” Teresa mused, admiring the neat lawns of the small houses and duplexes on the street. “Close to the diner and the school, not too much traffic, and the rent you quoted is certainly reasonable. There must be something wrong with the apartment.”

“Nothing at all,” Marjorie answered a little too quickly. “It’s very nice. Small, of course, but big enough to suit your needs for now.”

Following Marjorie’s instructions, Teresa turned into the second driveway in front of the red brick duplex. She took a moment to study the place, approving of what she saw. Two stories. White shutters at the windows. Matching front doors with small covered stoops. Fenced yards with tidy if minimal landscaping. Marjorie explained that a fence divided the backyards, and that each unit featured a small patio.

It looked ideal. Ever the skeptic, Teresa couldn’t help worrying that there would be some major drawback. Maybe it was all facade and the inside was a dump. Or maybe, she thought when the landlord opened the door in response to their knock, the problem wasn’t with the house—but with its owner.

It appeared that this duplex belonged to Riley O’Neal.

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