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Man In A Million
Man In A Million
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Man In A Million

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Man In A Million
Muriel Jensen

Paris O'Hara is trying to find herselfAnd her hometown of Maple Hill is where she's starting the search. It turns out her mother lied to her about who her father really is, and Paris needs to know the truth. Until she comes to terms with her past, she can't allow herself to get involved with anyone.Paris tries to keep Randy Sanford at arm's length, but she can't resist turning to him when she finally finds what she's been looking for. As she struggles to accept her newfound knowledge, Paris also has to learn that the past is not nearly as important as the future….

“Just a minute,” Paris said, holding back when Randy would have run on

“You know, you’ve completely lost your cardio momentum,” he said, jogging in place.

“And you’ve lost your mind. Why did you tell your friends I was coming to the picnic when you haven’t mentioned it to me?”

“Because if I go with a woman, they won’t spend all afternoon trying to fix me up. Please, Paris. Help me out here.”

Paris gave him a dirty look and jogged off. She hated to admit that there was something delicious about the ground flying under her feet, the sweet air filling her lungs and a strong man beside her, looking wonderful in his T-shirt and shorts.

“I’ll get you for this,” she threatened so that he wouldn’t see her pleasure in the moment.

He cast her a glance, his expression curious. “I think you’ve already got me.”

Dear Reader,

As a nondriver, I take cabs a lot and have found cabdrivers to be the most interesting people. One of our local companies is owned by a woman who employs her daughter and another woman I know. I love riding with them. Not that male drivers aren’t also interesting, but it’s always nice to have a woman-to-woman conversation while watching the scenery go by.

When I was looking for a way to extend our MEN OF MAPLE HILL series, I remembered that I’d made casual mention in a previous book of two sisters who came home after their dreams were short-circuited and now owned a cab company. I had intended that little tidbit to simply give texture to that moment, but now appreciated that it held story potential. So many of our paths in life are taken because other carefully made plans fall through and we’re forced to search for a new direction. What better way to do that than with other people on a journey, sitting in the back seat of your cab?

Hope you enjoy riding with Paris and Prue.

Sincerely,

Muriel

Man in a Million

Muriel Jensen

www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)

To Paul and Tiana and the gang at the Urban Cafe.

Thanks for the wonderful food and the even better company.

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

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER ONE

PARIS O’HARA WAS SERIOUSLY tempted to run in the other direction. This was not about being rude, she told herself. This was about taking charge of her life, clearing the decks, pulling it together. If Randy Sanford’s feelings were hurt in the process, she wasn’t to be blamed. She had to let him know where she stood.

It was all Addy Whitcomb’s fault. If she wasn’t so determined to turn every unattached man working for Whitcomb’s Wonders—her son’s formidable collective—and every single woman in Maple Hill, Massachusetts, into one half of a happy relationship, Paris wouldn’t be hiding behind her cab and mustering her courage.

She’d peeked around the corner just a moment ago and seen Randy Sanford in the driveway of the fire station, washing down the red-and-white ambulance in which he and his partner responded to emergencies.

Paris’s friend, Mariah Trent, had pointed him out at a school fund-raiser. He was short and portly and clearly the life of the party. Everyone around him had been laughing.

Had it been a year ago, and had Randy Sanford been more serious, Paris might have caved in to Addy’s insistence that they meet. But it wasn’t. It was now. And nothing in her life was funny.

Paris peeked around the corner again.

The timing was perfect. One of the fire trucks was being serviced, and the other was being used to conduct a demonstration on fire safety at the elementary school. Except for a skeleton crew of firemen shooting hoops on the other side of the building, her quarry was alone.

Russell Watson’s voice blared from inside the ambulance and Randy lip-synched “Va Pensiero” as Paris squared her shoulders, marched around the corner and stopped beside him. “Randy Sanford?” she asked.

He opened his mouth to reply, then raised his index finger in a “just-a-minute” gesture as he crossed the driveway and turned off the water. She followed him.

The moment he straightened away from the faucet, she offered her hand and what she hoped was a warm smile. “Hi, I’m Paris O’Hara,” she shouted over the music. “That’s my favorite CD, too. We’ve never been formally introduced, but Addy Whitcomb’s been trying to get us together for months. I apologize on her behalf for putting you through that. She means well, of course, but she’s so convinced that man can’t live without woman and vice versa, that she doesn’t understand ‘no’ when she hears it, and I’ve certainly said it to her enough times.”

As he studied her closely, apparently waiting for her to get to the point, she noticed that he had very nice brown eyes and a very sweet face. She wasn’t much for buzz cuts, but it seemed to suit him. She followed him back to the ambulance as he ran around the vehicle, reached through the open window and turned off the music.

He came back to her and opened his mouth again to speak, but she forestalled him, remembering that the last words she’d spoken had not been very complimentary. She was afraid he’d misinterpret the point she was trying to make.

“Not that I have anything against you, personally. I mean, I gather you’ve been resisting her efforts to bring us together, too, because there was that one time when I’d driven the fourth-grade class to Boston because the usual bus driver was sick, and I came home so exhausted, I couldn’t think of a ready excuse to turn her down when she said you were coming to her house for dinner that night. But, then, she called me a half hour later and told me you’d backed out.” She winked at him. “I think you even volunteered to take over someone else’s shift so you could avoid me.” She laughed.

When he continued to look dismayed, she cleared her throat. “Look, the truth is it’s clear you don’t want to date me any more than I want to date you.”

He blinked and folded his arms and she added quickly, “Not that you’re not perfectly…appealing and…and… But I’m just not relationship material, you know what I mean? It’s hard to…to…want to get to know someone else, particularly a man, when you’re not even sure who you are.” Then, wishing she hadn’t even let that fact surface, she tried to cover it up. “Oh, I’m Paris O’Hara, of course. We both know that. But I mean—know myself in a Zen sort of way. Do you understand?”

He looked as though she’d fried his brain. She shifted uncomfortably, hating that the strong, secure woman she’d always been turned into a chatty idiot when trying to explain herself. And she’d done that a lot lately because she really didn’t know who she was—in a Zen sort of way or any other way.

She put a hand on his arm, desperately trying to make a friend of him rather than an enemy.

“Randy, I’m sorry. I seem to be…” She stopped abruptly when she noticed something she hadn’t seen at all until this moment. Until she’d finally focused on him instead of her garbled explanation, which had seemed like such a good idea this morning when she’d been determined to get control of her life, but now seemed ill-advised and pitiful.

He was wearing a wedding ring.

She looked into those nice brown eyes. “You’re married?” she asked in disbelief. What was Addy thinking?

Then she caught a glimpse of amusement that moved from his eyes to tug at the corner of his mouth. “Yes, I am,” he replied. “But I’m not Randy Sanford.”

RANDY HAD BEEN LISTENING since he’d heard his name early in the conversation. Taking inventory in the back of the rig, he’d remained undetected, his attention captured by Paris O’Hara’s long, shapely legs and trim but nicely rounded backside clad in brown cords as she paced by the open back doors. Pale blond hair was tucked into a messy knot on top of her head, long strands like spider webbing brushed the shoulder of a rose-colored shirt.

So, this was Paris O’Hara. He listened in amusement as poor Chilly stared at her, clearly confused. Randy couldn’t imagine how this misunderstanding had occurred, but he had to admit that he was enjoying it—fully appreciating how Neanderthal that was.

Curiously, he could relate to everything she was saying. He hadn’t wanted to meet her, either, had also said a loud, clear “no” to Addy’s eager invitations. Including that one time when Evan’s wife had accepted a dinner date for him and he’d had to call and decline. That must have been the day Paris had driven the schoolkids to Boston.

He’d felt guilty about it. He never deliberately hurt anyone—physically or emotionally. But he knew in his heart there’d never be another Jenny Brewster. Even almost two years after her death and his move to Maple Hill, she was often on his mind. So, while he usually accepted Addy’s invitations, and showed her candidates a good time, he never called them again.

And Paris O’Hara looked too much like Jenny for comfort. At least at a distance. Evan Braga had pointed her out one day when they’d gone to the Breakfast Barn for lunch and she’d stopped in to get a coffee to go. Randy wasn’t dealing well with the loss of his fiancée, and anything that brought back thoughts of her—like long, blond hair—was unwelcome. Though now that he was able to inspect her more closely, he saw that she was several inches taller than Jenny, more slender, except for a nice flare to her hips. Her hair was almost platinum, not the gold Jenny’s had been.

He would have remained hidden, happy to let Chilly handle the misunderstanding, but then she noticed his partner’s wedding ring. Now Chill was stammering, trying to explain.

Randy stepped out, determined to react in a gentlemanly manner to her mistake, agree with her dismissal of the possibility of any relationship between them, then laugh it all off with Chilly when she walked away.

Until he saw her face.

Jenny had had a softly round, cute sort of face in which every sweet and lively quality she possessed shone like a candle. It had made him feel happy and loved.

Paris O’Hara’s face should have been pretty but wasn’t. She had a small, nicely shaped nose and a wide mouth with even teeth. Her perfect oval of a face glowed with a peaches-and-cream complexion. But beauty was in the eyes, and though hers were mossy green and thickly lashed, they were worried, as if she anticipated trouble. She didn’t seem afraid of it precisely, just uncertain about it.

She had doubts about herself, he guessed, and took no pains to hide it behind wiles or makeup. So the face that should have been stunning was simply interesting instead. He was surprised by how much that attracted him.

And—he was sure he wasn’t imagining this—a glimpse of sexual interest disturbed that worried look as she stared at him.

She seemed to consider him a moment before a grim sort of dismissal came into her eyes even as Randy prepared to introduce himself.

“This—” Chilly began.

“You’re Randy Sanford,” she said, sticking out her hand. He liked the way she refused to be embarrassed. He caught a whiff of jasmine.

“Yes,” he said, taking her long, slender fingers in his. They were cool and her grip was firm. He liked that, too.

“I was just explaining to—”

“Chilly,” he supplied for her. “Percival Childress. You can see why we call him Chilly.”

Chilly, who hated his pretentious first name, rolled his eyes.

She cast him a gentle smile. “I knew it had nothing to do with his personality.”

Chilly nodded modest acceptance of the compliment.

“I was starting to explain that he was pointed out to me at the spaghetti feed at the school,” she said.

He remembered the event. He and Chilly had gone together after a day of painting Chilly’s garage.

“We were sitting side by side,” Randy said, realizing what had caused her confusion.

Apparently she did, too. “When my friend pointed, I thought she was pointing to Chilly. My mistake.”

“No harm done. But even though you thought he has a warm personality,” he taunted gently, “you didn’t want to date him.”

He watched her blink, fascinated. “He’s married.”

“But before you knew that, you were giving him this big long story about—”

“I was explaining that I’m busy.” A little flicker of annoyance had appeared in her eyes and her voice. Her interest in him was definitely waning.

“No.” He didn’t know why he was taking issue with her claim. A moment ago, he’d have been grateful for the easy escape from Addy’s manipulations. Something about her was having an unusual effect on him. He didn’t know what, but it was pushing him—and there was nowhere to go but toward her. “That’s not what you said. You said you didn’t know yourself. In a Zen sort of way, whatever that means.”

She was absolutely still. He felt sure that was an indication of true annoyance.

“It’s intuition arrived at through meditation,” she said stiffly.

“Oh, I know what it is,” he replied. “I just wonder about the wisdom of meditating over one’s self. You’d miss everything going on around you.”

She expelled a breath—some safety-valve thing, he was sure. “You don’t know how to react to what’s around you,” she said with forced calm, “without self-knowledge.”

“Aren’t women supposed to have intuition without needing meditation?”

“I believe Zen implies a certain enlightenment.”

“But don’t you look for that to come from outside rather than inside?”

She dropped her arms impatiently. He felt the air stir around him. “You don’t know anything about me!” she snapped at him, as though his argument had been an accusation.

Quite accidentally, though, the argument seemed to have gotten him where he wanted to go.

“And I never will, will I, if you don’t want to go out with me.”