At First Touch. Tamara Sneed

getting approval from the mayor or the city council.”

      Quinn narrowed her eyes at him. “My grandfather was the only man I ever allowed to lecture me, and he’s dead.”

      “It wasn’t a lecture, Quinn,” he said evenly. “Just an observation.”

      She thought she saw the flash of a smile, but if there was a smile, it faded as quickly as it appeared. “I don’t need your observations, either.”

      Through the darkness of the highway, Quinn spotted the porch lights she had left on at the Sibley house and sighed in relief. The house had not been much when she and her two sisters had first moved in, but with the work and love that Charlie and Graham had put into the house over the last few months, it now felt like a home. Or as much as a place without a fitness center, valet service and a sauna could feel like home. In fact, Quinn was somewhat surprised by her sense of attachment to the little house because regardless of what it looked like, it was hers. She owned it. Or, at least, she owned one third of it.

      Wyatt parked the SUV in front of the house and turned off the engine. The sudden quiet surprised her. The house, set back from the road, was surrounded by dirt and grass-covered hills rolling like waves behind it. Their closest neighbor was miles away. If she closed her eyes, it would almost seem as if she were alone in the world, which was either good or bad, depending on how many agents had rejected her that day.

      Wyatt turned to her and asked in a deep, too-calm voice, “Why do you dislike me so much?”

      “I don’t know what you mean,” she lied. His gaze was unwavering, and Quinn had a sinking sensation that she could not lie to this man. She averted her gaze and muttered, “I don’t know. I guess…I don’t like how you stare at me.”

      “A lot of men stare at you, Quinn,” he reminded her in an almost gentle tone.

      “Not like you.”

      He didn’t just look at her. He studied her. Watched her. Made her think of all the things he wanted to do to her, with her, inside her. And sometimes when she wasn’t careful, she found herself wanting the same things, which was very wrong. Wyatt Granger was not her type. He was only three years older than her, he didn’t have a private plan and, most important, he was a mortician. Definitely not her type.

      “I am attracted to you,” he said softly, staring at her. Drinking her in. “I’d be blind not to be. But I’ll never act on it.”

      “Why?” she blurted out, before she could remind herself to feel relieved.

      “Does it matter?” he said with a small shrug.

      “Not really, but I want to know. I mean, if it’s because I’m an actress and you’re a nobody…I totally understand that. It’s an insurmountable hurdle that few men can get past. But for the sake of argument, I should note that a lot of nobodies marry women like me. Look at Julia Roberts and her husband, what’s-his-name. And then there’s…”

      He stared at her again, and Quinn’s voice trailed off as his gaze dropped to her mouth. She had to clear her suddenly dry throat as one corner of his mouth lifted in a mysterious smile that she hadn’t thought a boring man like Wyatt capable of.

      Wow. She had finally seen his smile, and she had to admit that she wanted to see it again.

      “That’s not it, Quinn,” he finally said, leaning back in the leather seat and looking entirely too comfortable for a spurned suitor.

      His scent began to wrap around her. Fresh soap that smelled like the ocean or the grass-covered hills behind the house after a hard rain. Quinn once more cleared her throat. “Then what is it?”

      Wyatt studied the house for a moment and then admitted, “My biological clock is ticking.”

      Quinn had been expecting many things—maybe he was gay, or celibate, or asexual—but that his biological clock was ticking?

      “I don’t understand.”

      He smiled. A small, awkward one, but it was there. Dimples on both cheeks flashed. Quinn gripped the armrests as something akin to all-out lust spread in her body and caused her thighs to clench. Where had he been hiding that smile?

      “I want a family. I want kids. I’m ready for that,” he explained.

      “But, you’re a man.”

      “I’m glad you finally noticed.” Before she could retort, he quickly said, “I don’t know how it started or why it started, but over the last three years, all I think about is having children. I see other men with their children and I feel resentful. When my friends complain about their wives, in ways that you know it’s not really a complaint, but a small prayer that they have a wife to complain about, I get jealous. I want a daughter to spoil and a son to play football with. I want the whole package—diapers, a dog, temper tantrums. The warmth of waking up at night and knowing that no matter what else is going on in the world, for that one moment, it’s okay because my family is safe and warm. I know it’s strange, but…. At some point, most men feel this way, they just don’t tell beautiful women.”

      “And what does any of that have to do with your attraction to me?”

      Wyatt smiled again then shook his head. “You’re a walking contradiction, Quinn. You can’t decide if you want me to want you or not.”

      “Trust me, Wyatt, I don’t want you to want me,” she said quickly. “But, I find it odd that you don’t, especially since a man like you is in my core audience. Thirties, heterosexual. So I want to know why.”

      “My wife will never have to worry about me running around her. I don’t even want her to think about worrying about it. It’ll be just her and me for the rest of our lives. In Sibleyville. With our children. Running the family mortuary because that’s what Grangers have done for the last three generations. I need a woman who will fit into that life, be a mortician’s wife without cringing or running away in disgust. Someone who will fit into Sibleyville.”

      “And you don’t think I could be that woman,” Quinn said, understanding dawning.

      “I know you can’t be that woman,” Wyatt responded simply. “And since you have no desire to be that woman, I guess it works out for everyone.”

      She tried to conceal the bitterness in her voice as she asked dryly, “And where exactly do you plan to meet this paragon of virtue who will be Mrs. Wyatt Granger, town heroine, bearer of the fruit of your loins and Ms. Congeniality?”

      He laughed and then said, “I know she won’t be perfect, but I’m not looking for perfect. I’m just looking for someone who will be happy to see me at the end of the day and who will be happy with what I can offer her. Maybe bake an apple pie once in a while, even if it’s awful. Sing to our children after their nightmares. Someone who can make a home anywhere, even in a drafty funeral home.”

      “You’re a romantic,” she accused, smiling.

      “I don’t know about that,” he said, shaking his head, amused. “But, I know what I want. And I may have found her.”

      “Who?”

      He sent her another smile and shook his head. Quinn forced a smile and playfully jabbed his arm. “Come on, Wyatt. We’re being honest here.”

      “Her name is Dorrie Diamond.”

      Quinn couldn’t stop the note of sarcasm that entered her voice as she said, “She sounds like a comic book superhero.”

      “She’s an accountant. She moved here last year from Danville and opened an office on Main Street.”

      “Does Miss Diamond know that she’s the future womb for your children?”

      “Not yet,” he said, grinning, taking no offense at her anger. “We’ve gone on a couple of dates. Well, not dates, actually, but we’ve met for coffee. Dorrie is very shy, but my mother likes her. She’s a sweet person and I’m happy with my decision.”