That Marriageable Man!

Rafe’s temples began to throb. “Did the girls go out last night, Lion?” He never forgot Trent’s nickname-of-the-moment.

“I don’t know,” Trent replied. “I was playing with my Gameboy. It’s the best present I ever got, Rafe. Thanks again.”

Rafe got the picture right away. The kid wasn’t going to squeal on Kaylin and Camryn, maybe his own choice, maybe because they’d threatened him to keep quiet. Perhaps if he rephrased the question, a standard lawyer’s trick... “What time did the girls get in last night, Lion?”

“I don’t know anything, I was playing with my Gameboy.” Trent stuck to his story.

“By the way, Tony is at the Steens’,” Camryn said in the acidly sweet tone she used to induce guilt. “Did you forget about him? ’Cause you didn’t mention him.”

Rafe felt guilty, all right. “I was just about to ask where Tony was.” He hadn’t forgotten about eight-year-old Tony, he assured himself. He’d been just a second or two away from noticing the child’s absence.

As he glanced from the boy to the girls and then to the dog, a peculiar feeling of unreality swept over him. It had been a whole year, and sometimes he still had difficulty believing that they were all here, living with him. That the life he’d known as a carefree bachelor had been so drastically, irrevocably, changed.

“The new neighbors are moving in today,” Trent said, flopping back down on the floor. “Did you see the moving truck when you came in, Rafe?”

“No, it wasn’t there.” Rafe already pitied the new neighbors who’d been unlucky enough to rent or buy the other half of the duplex in this development of town house condominiums. He knew that the kids’ noise and other antics had driven the Lamberts, the yuppie couple who’d previously lived there, to move across town.

“Maybe it just pulled in this second. I’m gonna go check.” Trent leaped to his feet and ran out the front door, closing it with a jarring slam.

Camryn clutched her head with her hands. “That felt like a cannon blast to the brain,” she complained.

“Where did you go last night and what time did you get in?” Rafe forced himself to ask, hating his role as warden. It was a role thrust upon him and he knew he wasn’t very good at it.

“I went miniature golfing with my friends and then we stopped at the Dairy Queen for sundaes. Real wholesome Midwest teen fun, huh, Rafe? Oh, and I was home before my curfew.” Camryn had a smile that was positively angelic.

Rafe had been fooled by her the first few days after she’d moved in. Then he’d caught on—the girl was actually the devil in disguise.

“Yeah, sure,” he said, scoffing his disbelief. “And Kaylin is going to be the valedictorian in her class and you’re going to be the prom queen in yours.”

The odds of either event occurring went far beyond the realm of possibility, with Kaylin’s and her “what’s bad about a D?” philosophy toward education and Camryn’s Princess of Darkness persona so at odds with the wholesome students at Riverview High. The same odds applied to Camryn’s version of how she’d spent her evening.

Kaylin came into the room carrying a plate with eggs and toast and a glass of orange juice. “Where’s Trent?”

“Pestering the new people next door, or trying to.” Camryn glanced at the food and sat up. “I’m starving! Can I have that?”

“It’s Trent’s,” Rafe said.

“I’ll make him some more. It’ll be cold by the time he gets back, anyway.” Kaylin handed the food and juice to her sister and sat down on Rafe’s designer recliner, wriggling in next to Hot Dog. The dog opened one eye, then closed it again, accepting her presence without protest.

“I feel kind of sick.” Kaylin swallowed visibly. “Like I might throw up. Maybe I shouldn’t have eaten all those Oreos. ’Specially not on top of the Twizzlers.”

“For breakfast?” Rafe heaved a groan.

“I had milk with them.” Kaylin was defensive. “Milk’s good for you.”

“Just don’t puke in here or else I will, too!” Camryn shuddered as she proceeded to shovel the food into her mouth.

Rafe decided to skip this particular conversation. “I’m going upstairs to unpack and change.” He fled from the room.

Two

The moment Holly pulled her overpacked Chevy Cavalier into the driveway of 101 Deer Trail Lane, a young boy came running across the front yard to meet her.

“I’m Lion,” he announced as she climbed out of the car. “I live right next door.” He pointed his finger. “See, our places are connected. If me and my brother pound on the walls, you can hear us real good.”

He seemed pleased by this fact. Holly wondered, a little apprehensively, why and how often the brothers pounded on the adjoining walls.

“Me and Tony—that’s my brother—can do Morse code,” Lion continued, his eyes bright with enthusiasm. “Not only SOS, either. All the letters!”

“That must have taken a lot of practice,” Holly said politely.

“Yeah. We’ll teach you and then we can send messages. What’s your name?”

“Holly.”

“Can I call you that? Or are you Mrs. Somebody?”

“You can call me Holly. I’m not Mrs. Anybody.” How ironic. to be quizzed on her marital status moments after setting foot in her new neighborhood. Was this child an agent of her mother’s?

Holly smiled and tried to appear more enthusiastic than she currently felt. The exhaustion from the long drive was seeping through her, and the prospect of learning Morse code by pounding on her walls did not enchant her. She felt hungry, stiff, and more than a little frustrated that she wouldn’t be able to move in today as planned.

Lion brandished a golf club like a sword while he chattered on. Holly tried to listen, to respond to his many questions, but her head was still ringing with all the directions and suggestions provided by the friendly real estate agent, who had just given her the keys to her rented duplex town house... Along with the unwelcome news that the moving truck had been delayed and wouldn’t be arriving with her furniture and other household essentials until sometime tomorrow.

Hopefully, the truck would arrive tomorrow. The agent’s perky parting comment, “You know how it goes with moving, there aren’t any guaranteed timetables,” didn’t offer a whole lot of reassurance.

“Watch my chip shot!” exclaimed Lion, placing a golf ball on a wooden tee in the grass along the edge of the driveway.

Holly watched as he whacked the ball with surprising strength. As it sailed through the air, she noticed that an obstacle—her new home—stood directly in the ball’s path. Inevitably, a split second later the ball crashed through a window, shattering it.

“I hate it when that happens!” Lion sounded aggrieved. “How come glass always busts like that?”

Holly stared resignedly at the smashed window. “You have a powerful swing, Lion. But you really ought to practice your chip shots at a golf course or a driving range. In fact, it’s probably a good idea to practice all your shots there.”

“Yeah, that’s what Rafe says, too.” Lion sighed.

“Trent, I heard glass break.” A deep adult male voice sounded behind her.

Holly turned around to see a very tall, dark-haired man in jeans, moccasins, and a white T-shirt approaching them.

“Uh-oh. That’s Rafe.” The boy lowered his voice to an urgent whisper. “Would you tell him that you broke the window?” He shoved the golf club into Holly’s hand. “And can I go get my ball while you’re telling him?”

Rafe joined them before any escape could be attempted. He stared from the broken window, to the boy, and finally at Holly, holding the golf club in her hand. “Welcome to the neighborhood.” There was a wealth of subtext in his tone. “I’m Rafe Paradise.”

It struck Holly as strange that his name was Paradise while his cryptic “welcome to the neighborhood” sounded more like a warning heard at the gates of hell. Or maybe she was simply delirious from all the driving.

Nevertheless, she attempted to maintain conventional etiquette. “Thank you. I’m Holly Casale. Uh, from Michigan.”

“She loves golf!” Trent exclaimed winsomely. “Her chip shot is awesome!”

“Give me a break, Trent, I know you broke her window.” Rafe took the golf club from Holly’s hand. “Now, how are we going to arrange to pay for it?”

“You’re mad at me!” wailed Trent. “You hate me! You’re going to send me away, I just know it!” Howling at the top of his lungs, he raced down the street.

Holly was nonplussed. “Should you go after him? Is he running away?”

“No, he has nowhere else to go and he knows it. Trent’s mother would send him back if he tried to go to her place. Looks like he’s heading for the Steens’, who truly take the concept of neighborliness to the highest level.”

They both watched the boy run to the front door of one of the condos halfway down the block. The door was opened by a woman who greeted Trent with a smile and allowed him to enter.

“Yeah, the Steens.” Relieved, Rafe nodded his approval. “God bless them.” He shifted the golf club from one hand to the other. “I want Trent to accept responsibility for breaking your window. How about if he cuts your grass for the rest of the summer? Of course, I’ll assume the expense of replacing your window.”

“I’m confused about something.” Holly glanced up at him. He towered over her, something that rarely happened at her five-foot-eight height. But Rafe Paradise was at least six foot four, and he was definitely towering.

“You have a perfect right to be.” His dark eyes glinted. “Feel free to ask whatever question that needs answering.”

“The little boy called himself Lion. You call him Trent.”

“He’s been Lion for the past few months, since he decided to be a golf phenom like Tiger Woods. But his real name is Trent Krider. He’s my Little Brother.”

“Oh.” Holly was embarrassed to hear how astonished she sounded.

The astute Rafe Paradise reacted immediately. “Think capital letters. Trent is assigned to me by the Big Brother/Big Sister organization. Does that satisfactorily explain how a blond, blue-eyed child could be brothers with a half-breed Indian?”

Holly’s face turned scarlet. As if of their own volition, her eyes dropped to his well-worn moccasins.

Rafe noticed that, too. “They were handed down to me by my great-great-grandfather, Chief Lightning Bolt, who once ruled the Plains,” he drawled. “Being August, it’s too hot to wear my buffalo skins, but I keep them and my headdress in the wigwam out back.”

Holly was aghast. She had unwittingly insulted him and his proud ancestors!

“I—I never meant to imply...or...or...to—to disparage your Native American heritage in any way, Mr. Paradise. I apologize. I—I never intended to be so tactless and I am deeply sorry that—”

“All you said was ‘oh,”’ Rafe said dryly. “How was that tactless or disparaging?”

“I was nonverbally disrespectful,” Holly lamented, horrified by her lapse. She would not spare herself. “I—I looked at your moccasins.”

“Since when is that a crime?”

“Tone of voice, staring, or even silence can be offending and offensive,” Holly persisted frantically.

“I was just kidding, okay? Trying to make a joke, although judging by your reaction, I obviously didn’t succeed.”

Holly wasn’t sure how to respond.

“Look, I don’t feel offended.” Rafe shrugged.

“You are very understanding, Mr. Paradise.”

“It’s Rafe. We might as well dispense with formalities since we’ll be living next door—and my Little Brother has already started breaking your things.”

“Accidents happen.” Holly smiled at him. “Don’t worry about it.”

Rafe stared at her. Suddenly, incredibly, he felt as if fireworks were exploding in his head. That smile of hers affected him viscerally. He had to remind himself to breathe as a fierce jolt of sexual desire blasted through him.

Why? How? Rafe was astonished by his unexpected, involuntary response. He didn’t believe in the fairy tale of love at first sight; actually, he’d never even experienced a bona fide case of lust at first sight. Attraction, certainly. But to become firmly, achingly hard by simply looking at a woman he didn’t know? That had never happened to him before, not even when perusing certain magazines as a curious youth.

Yet he had attained that state right now by looking at the smiling, unsuspecting, and totally unaware Holly Casale. At thirty-two, his adolescence long past, it was disconcerting, not to mention humiliating, to experience a rush of sensual urgency—in public!

Rafe thought of Lorna Larson’s determined campaign to engage his attention on the plane earlier today. Nothing she had seductively implied, said or done had inspired even a sensual twinge in him. But here he stood in the driveway beside Holly—who had done nothing at all to try to turn him on—feeling his jeans become uncomfortably tight from his arousal. He hoped to heaven she didn’t notice.

She didn’t. It should have been a relief to see that she was staring rather bleakly at her car, jam-packed with possessions, the driver’s seat the only empty space within. Instead, Rafe felt irked. She was anticipating the tedious job of unloading her car while he burned with desire!

“Well, I guess I’ll start unpacking,” Holly said, walking toward her car. “Nice to meet you, Rafe.”

“Do you need help unloading your car?” Rafe trailed after her like Hot Dog following someone with a doughnut. His offer was an antidote as much as a wish to help out. There was nothing like prosaic physical labor to quash passion.

“I sure do!” Holly smiled again.

Rafe stopped in his tracks, his eyes riveted to her once more. To her slim figure with soft curves and long legs accentuated by tan shorts and a sky blue T-shirt tucked neatly inside the waistband of her shorts. Her complexion had an iridescent ivory glow and her hair, a rich brunette shade, was thick and curly and tumbled nearly to her shoulders. He gazed at her dainty features; her wide-set brown eyes and well-shaped generous mouth were particularly riveting.

And while he studied her, she was opening both doors of her car to more easily unpack it. Rafe shook his head. He wanted her, but she didn’t seem aware of him at all. What a stupid predicament !

Get your ego in check! Rafe commanded himself. For all he knew, Holly Casale was happily married with eyes for no other man but her husband. Which made his sharp sudden desire for her even more unseemly.

His lack of female companionship of late was finally taking its toll on him, Rafe decided grimly. When he began lusting after strangers and begrudging their lack of response, it was definitely time to resume dating, however daunting the logistics. He tried to remember where he’d put Lorna Larson’s business card. The trash compactor in the kitchen? The wastebasket in his bathroom?

“Trent says he lives here,” Holly said conversationally as she reached into the car for her canvas overnight bag.

“That’s right. His little brother Tony does, too.” Rafe watched the material of her shorts hug the sweetly rounded curve of her bottom as she bent to lean inside the car. His mouth went dry.

“Your Little Brother and his little brother both live with you? How did that happen?” Holly was curious. “I know it’s not usually the case in the Big and Little Brother program.”

Even her voice was sexy, Rafe thought dazedly, unable to tear his eyes away from her. Her soft husky tones managed to sound both soothing and stimulating, an unexpectedly arousing paradox.

He looked at her left hand clutching her bag, at her long elegant fingers, the rounded nails painted with pale pink polish. She was not wearing a wedding ring or an engagement ring. Rafe found himself fantasizing about her lovely, ringless hand doing all sorts of things...

He forgot what she’d asked him, what they were talking about.

“I was a Big Sister when I lived in Ann Arbor,” Holly continued chattily, grabbing a black bag with her other hand. “It was a nice break from the craziness and pressure of med school and my residency. My Little Sister, Stephanie, is all grown up now, but we plan to stay in touch.”

Rafe’s eyes darted to her black bag, the traditional physician’s bag. And she’d mentioned med school. His jaw dropped. “You’re a doctor?”

“And you’re incredulous that I am. Should I be insulted?”

“You look too young to be a doctor. And way too pretty,” Rafe said bluntly. He gathered a huge pile of clothing on hangers into his arms.

“These days everybody pretty much accepts the idea of women doctors,” she said dryly.

They walked side by side to the front door of her condo.

“I accept the idea of women doctors,” Rafe said in defense of himself. “What I said was that you looked too young and pretty to be one.”

Holly rolled her eyes. “That kind of pseudo-compliment is impossible to respond to.”

“It wasn’t a compliment, pseudo or otherwise, it was simply an observation. I have nothing against women doctors. In fact my little sister is in her third year of med school right here in Sioux Falls, and doing really well, too.”

“Does she look young? And pretty?”

“Touché, Doc.” Rafe conceded her point with a chuckle. “Yes, to both questions. Eva is young and pretty and very capable.”

Holly inserted her key in the lock and opened the front door.

Rafe followed her into the empty condo and glanced around. “It’s the mirror image of my place.” He thought of the gang inhabiting his half of the duplex, the kids, the dog. “But a lot neater. Certainly quieter.”

Holly set down her bags on the floor of the L-shaped living room and fixed her gaze upon one long wall. “That must be the adjoining wall Trent said he and his brother use to pound out messages in Morse code.”

“And you wondered why the real estate agent was so eager to give you such a great price on this place.”

He guffawed rather slyly, Holly thought. He was kidding again, right? “I’m renting, with an option to buy,” she hedged.

“So you have a safe out. A wise choice.” Rafe peered at her from around the mountain of clothes he was holding. “Where do you want me to put these?”

He watched her. She was all huge eyes and translucent skin and long, long legs. Much to his consternation, he remained in a state of acute arousal despite hauling a hundred pounds of clothing. But he obviously conjured up no sexual interest in her.

Rafe groaned.

Holly reacted at once. “Oh, I’m so sorry! Here I am rambling on, and you’re standing there with that cumbersome load.”

She’d completely misinterpreted his tortured groan. If she only knew! Rafe was tom between laughing and groaning once again.

He did neither.

“I guess the clothes should go upstairs in my bedroom.” Swiftly, Holly led the way up the narrow staircase to the largest of the three bedrooms.

On the other side of the inner wall was the wall of his own bedroom. Rafe tried not to think about how close—the proverbial so near yet so far—he would be to her when he was in his bed and she was in hers. Without waiting for further instruction, he dropped the hangers over the steel rod in the closet. The clothes swung wildly.

“Thank you so much,” exclaimed Holly. “I know how heavy those—”

“Don’t thank me yet. There’s still most of your car to unload. When does the rest of your stuff get here?”

“According to Mrs. Yoder, the agent who took the message from the moving company, hopefully tomorrow.”

Rafe rubbed his jaw. “Anytime I hear ‘hopefully’ I fear the worst. Expect that truck to show up sometime next month.”

“I thought the same thing. Fortunately, I brought some basic necessities with me in my car. Towels, clothes and shoes, some kitchen stuff. It won’t be so bad.”

“You do have a Pollyanna view of things.” He liked that, Rafe decided. It was a refreshing contrast to his own outlook that sometimes bordered on pessimism and gloom. Often bordered on pessimism and gloom, he conceded. “Never mind that you might not have a bed or a chair or even a plate to eat from, you’re all ready to heal the sick. What’s your branch of medicine? Are you joining an established practice or going solo?”

“I’ll be with the Widmark family practice. I start on Monday, so I have a few days to get settled in my house—if the truck arrives on schedule. I’m a psychiatrist,” she added.

“A shrink?” Rafe was taken aback.

Did shrinks have some kind of secret tricks of the trade to get people to confide their inner thoughts? The idea spooked him.

He looked less than thrilled, Holly noted. She was accustomed to some people’s uneasy reaction to her profession and strove to put him at ease. “Don’t worry, I don’t analyze every word of everyone I meet. I don’t go trolling for prospective patients, and I promise not to try to bulldoze you into psychotherapy.”

Rafe saw the open friendliness in her expression, the shining warmth of her eyes. He was lusting for a psychiatrist who could probably explain why, tracing his feelings back to the womb or something. Worse, not an iota of sexual tension was evident on her part while it hummed through his body like electricity across the wires.

He ran his hand through his hair, making a few renegade strands stand on end. Though her profession dealt with interpreting dreams and fantasies, the classy, personable Dr. Casale would probably faint from shock if he were to reveal the erotic images chasing through his mind right now. Because she starred in every one of them.

Rafe glanced again at her ringless hand. Not all married women wore wedding rings. And might not a psychiatrist be unconventional enough to do away with defining symbols like rings?

“So when will your husband be joining you?” Not his smoothest opening, but Rafe gave himself points for being direct. Well, it was worth half a point at least.

“I’m not married,” replied Holly.

“Your fiancé, then. Is he moving here with you?”

“I don’t have a fiancé.”

“How about your boyfriend? A live-in, or are you doing the long-distance bit?”

“I don’t have a boyfriend, either.” Holly shook her head. “You’re beginning to sound like my mother grilling me for information.”

“Feel free to grill me right back,” he invited.

“I’d better not. You got so nervous when I told you I was a psychiatrist, you’d probably suspect me of diagnosing you if I started to ask questions.”

“I’m not nervous. Or married or involved with anyone.” Rafe supplied the answers anyway. “Are you in—”

“If you ask me if I’m looking for Mr. Right, I will not be responsible for my actions,” she warned lightly.

“Is that what all your mom’s grilling is about, finding Mr. Right?” Rafe laughed.

“It’s not only my mother. My sister and my aunts and cousins are just as persistent,” Holly admitted. “They all love to play matchmaker and so far I’ve been their only failure.”

“You present the ultimate challenge, huh?”

There was a certain note in his voice... Holly was quite perceptive when it came to the nuances in tone or language, a necessity in her profession. She comprehended subtext—and knew he wasn’t talking about her mother’s matchmaking anymore.

Holly lifted her eyes and saw him, really saw him for the first time. She knew there were all sorts of subconscious reasons why she’d remained immune to his striking masculine appeal until this moment. She’d been fatigued from the drive, preoccupied with her new surroundings. Uncertain of his eligibility and unwilling to be attracted to another woman’s man?

Bingo. Forget about being tired and preoccupied, now that she knew his status her feminine radar had been fully activated. Holly took in every male detail.

His hair was thick, straight, and black as coal, worn a little longer than the very short, very trendy cuts currently in vogue. He had a long straight nose and well-shaped sensual mouth. His smooth shaven jaw, his skin the color of polished bronze, was strong and firm with high, sculpted cheekbones. And his eyes...

Holly felt herself being drawn into his gaze. He had the most fascinating eyes. Arched by jet-black brows, they were almondshaped and very dark. Compelling eyes, burning with intelligence.