Amazing Gracie. Sherryl Woods

hunky Jean-Claude van Damme in it. That alone was worth the price of admission.”

      Kevin sighed at the thought of his aunt having fantasies about an action-movie superstar. “I worry about you, you know that.”

      “Why? Just because I can appreciate a hunk when I see one?” She regarded him with another of those sly looks. “Bet that Gracie MacDougal can, too. I saw her looking at you, you know. Little wonder, given the way you dress.”

      Since they’d had the discussion about the way he dressed about a hundred times, he seized on her revelation about Gracie MacDougal.

      “She was checking me out?”

      “Ogling you, in fact. You let her catch another glimpse or two, you can probably drive up her offer on that house by another fifty thousand.”

      Kevin stared at her, astounded by her suggestion. “Why don’t I just sleep with her?” he grumbled. “Maybe then she’d fork over another hundred thousand.”

      Despite his facetious tone, Aunt Delia took him seriously. “Nope, I think building anticipation is a better approach. You’ll have her so muddle-headed, she won’t know what she’s doing. Once you’ve gone to bed with a person, nothing much is left to the imagination.”

      Kevin thought of Gracie MacDougal’s singleminded negotiations earlier. “I think you may be underestimating her, Aunt Delia. I doubt she’s distracted easily. She’s a tough cookie.”

      She feigned shock. “Don’t tell me you’re scared of her.”

      “Scared? Who said anything about being scared?”

      “Well, then, don’t let any grass grow under your feet. Get busy and reel her in, boy.”

      Kevin had a feeling they weren’t talking entirely about a real estate transaction now. “I’ll see Gracie MacDougal again in my own good time. In the meantime, you do some serious thinking about whether you’re really ready to sell that house to her or anybody else. We’ve had other offers in the past and you haven’t been interested. In fact, you chased that last man off with threats of bodily harm a lady shouldn’t even know about. Made my blood run cold.”

      “Times change. People change.”

      “Not overnight they don’t.”

      “Okay, okay, if it’ll make you happy, I’ll think about it. You set up an appointment with that MacDougal gal for tomorrow. Invite her to have lunch with us at the races.”

      “Not on your life.”

      “Coward.”

      “Bossy old lady.”

      She chuckled. “You’ll call.”

      “Will not.”

      But he did. He told himself he didn’t do it because he wanted to. He swore to himself he did it only to satisfy his aunt. He was more relieved than he could say when he got an answering machine. The sound of Gracie’s voice, all prim and prissy, did astonishing things to his pulse, which just proved beyond a shadow of a doubt why he needed to conduct this negotiation—if there was to be one—very, very carefully. Otherwise, he, not Aunt Delia, would be the one giving the house away.

      In the end, he didn’t leave a message and he didn’t call again. Might have been stubbornness. Aunt Delia certainly would have called it that. More likely, it was just plain good sense kicking in in the nick of time.

      Aunt Delia looked around the Riverboat with its banks of TV screens with absolute delight.

      “Get me a Racing Form,” she ordered Kevin. “And hurry up. I don’t want to miss the first race.”

      Aunt Delia had been spry as a young chicken ever since she’d hatched this plot to get him and Gracie MacDougal together, Kevin noticed. She was bossier than usual, too.

      The truth was, though, he enjoyed matching wits with her. Nobody had ever put anything over on his aunt. She’d remained unmarried by choice, claiming that there wasn’t a man around who could tolerate the fact that she was smarter than he was. Kevin had the distinct impression, though, that that hadn’t stopped her from having a few serious male friends over the years. She was too darned savvy about relationships not to have been through a few herself. Not that she’d ever admit it. She’d go to her grave implying that she was as innocent as a newborn babe. But the twinkle in her eyes when Kevin suggested otherwise proved his point.

      “Five races, that’s it,” he said, as he handed her the Racing Form. “I’m not letting you wager your life savings today.”

      “What if I win? Do we stay longer?”

      “We’ll discuss that when—no, if—it happens.”

      “Then keep quiet and let me do my handicapping in peace,” she said, snapping open the paper to the day’s races in New York.

      Kevin sat back and sipped his beer. For a weekday, the Riverboat had a modest crowd, including a few locals and quite a few unfamiliar faces in town just for the chance to bet on races at tracks across the country. Some of them would be here until the last race ran in California hours from now.

      He wondered how Gracie would react to this simple place out over the water with its basic menu, plain tables, and noisy patrons. He’d lay odds if she’d ever placed a wager it had been in some elegant casino in Europe. She’d probably been wearing diamonds and satin at the time, looking all slinky and sophisticated. An image of Grace Kelly in Philadelphia Story came to mind.

      “Is it hot in here?” he asked suddenly.

      “I hadn’t noticed,” Aunt Delia mumbled.

      She barely glanced up from her papers. A little furrow of concentration lined her brow. Her reading glasses had slipped to the tip of her nose. Kevin observed her with tolerant amusement, laughing out loud when he noticed that she’d worn her fancy white sneakers with the rhinestones on them in honor of their outing. She was such a joy. It truly was a shame no man had seen that and dared to take her on for a lifetime.

      “It’s four minutes till post time,” Kevin reminded her. “Have you made up your mind?”

      She nabbed a little slip of paper from the pile beside her and jotted down some numbers. “A trifecta,” she announced. “In this order. Don’t mess it up. I’ve put a lot of thought into getting it right.”

      “I won’t mess it up.”

      “What about you? You planning to bet?”

      “I thought I’d put a little down on that number eight.”

      Aunt Delia hurriedly glanced at her notes, scribbled all over the past performance listings. “Eight? That horse will go off at fifty-to-one. Why that one?”

      “The name reminds me of someone,” he said, and walked away.

      “Scottish Lass,” she murmured.

      The sound of her laughter followed him over to the betting window.

      “I just don’t understand it,” Aunt Delia complained after Kevin finally managed to drag her away after the eighth race. “That three horse was sired by a distance runner. His mama had speed. He should have blasted past every other horse on the track.”

      “Maybe he was a little too taken with that mare swishing her tail in his face in the homestretch. Hormones will distract a male.”

      “So I’ve noticed,” his aunt retorted. “Are you planning to swing by the house?”

      “I wasn’t. Why?”

      “There’s something I left in that old bureau upstairs. I’d like to get it, as long as we’re already in the vicinity.”

      “I thought you cleaned out every bureau and closet before you moved in with me.”

      “Well, I forgot this. Sue me.”

      “Okay,