At First Touch. Tamara Sneed

at him. Doesn’t that usually do the trick?”

      “Wyatt is different from most men,” Quinn said, frustrated. “He doesn’t want me. He’s convinced that he wants to marry some Pollyanna here in town, and he plans to be married to her and popping out little Sibley-villians—if that’s a word—by next year. I have no practice in convincing a man who doesn’t like me to do something I want, so I need your help. I’m sure you’ve found yourself in this situation numerous times.”

      “If you’re trying to sweet-talk me, it’s not working,” Kendra replied dryly.

      Quinn ignored her sister’s sarcastic tone. “What should I do, Kendra? The director won’t make this movie without Wyatt’s house, and Wyatt refuses to talk his mother into doing it.”

      “As you remind me every five minutes, you’re Quinn Sibley. Daytime Emmy winner and one of People’s 50 Most Beautiful People three years in a row. You can convince a man to do anything, Pollyanna or not.”

      “Usually, that’s right, but Wyatt…he’s not exactly normal. He’s a funeral director.”

      “You have a point,” Kendra agreed, which instantly annoyed Quinn. There was nothing per se wrong with being a funeral director. Quinn would put Wyatt up against any of those suit-wearing losers that Kendra used and abused and dumped climbing up her corporate ladder.

      “Regardless of Wyatt’s supposed Pollyanna fixation, he’s obsessed with you. He’ll do whatever you want,” Kendra said firmly.

      “You think so?” she asked uncertainly.

      “Put on a tight dress, shake your ass and your breasts that you’ve certainly paid enough for, and get that house.”

      “It’s not that simple, Kendra.”

      “Of course, it is. Or, maybe, you need to go about it another way,” Kendra said with a short burst of laughter.

      “What do you mean?”

      “Are Wyatt and his Pollyanna actually dating?”

      “Not yet.”

      “I can’t believe you didn’t think about this. What did Sephora do when her sister—the nun, not the ex-secret agent—met that rebel in the Colombian jungle?”

      “She came on to the priest whenever Elizabeth was around because she knew it would make Elizabeth jealous and hate the rebel, and then Elizabeth would return back to the convent and Sephora could take over the family business—”

      “Precisely. Sephora drove a wedge straight between the couple, even though she and the rebel never even touched. But the sister wouldn’t believe him, and he got angry that she wouldn’t believe him and went back to the Colombian jungle where he was eaten by a crocodile.”

      “It was an anaconda, and his death led Elizabeth to leave the convent and to move back to town, where she locked Sephora in the dungeon built behind the wine cellar of the family mansion for a month. That was such a horrible time. I had to wear the same hideous fuchsia dress for four months—”

      “Quinn, focus.”

      Quinn was silent as she squeezed the telephone receiver. She suddenly grinned. “Kendra, you’re a genius. Or, more accurately, the writers of Diamond Valley are geniuses.”

      “You become Wyatt’s worst nightmare. You’re on him like white on rice. Flirting, laughing, whispering in his ear, wanting him like Sephora wanted that Bulgarian prince. Pollyanna will never believe Wyatt when he claims there’s nothing going on. Of course, you’ll stop the campaign of terror just before Pollyanna vows to never speak to him again if he lets you film the movie in his house. And the perfect part is that Wyatt will have no control over the situation. No one will believe that he’s not into it.”

      “You’re evil, Kendra.”

      “Thank you.”

      Quinn laughed. “Only you would take that as a compliment.”

      “Glad to help, and don’t lay it on too thick. You wouldn’t want the poor thing to self-combust. Remember this is Sibleyville.”

      “So, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

      “Tomorrow?” Kendra squeaked. “You don’t need me there. I’ve give you the perfect plan. All you have to do is execute it.”

      “I’ll see you tomorrow, or I’ll sic Charlie on you.”

      There was a long silence on the telephone and then Kendra said flatly, “Apparently, I’m not the only evil Sibley sister. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

      “Perfect.” Quinn pressed the Disconnect button then ran up the stairs to her room with a grin. She had to find the perfect outfit for lunch. Wyatt hadn’t said where he was taking Dorrie for lunch, but considering the options around town, Quinn had a feeling she would find them sooner or later.

      Chapter 5

      Wyatt smiled across the table at Dorrie. Dorrie sent him a shy smile in return, then went back to pushing her food around her plate. Wyatt went back to his own plate. He had taken his mother’s advice. He had driven to Dorrie’s small apartment above her office on Main Street and he had fixed her drain, then he had asked her to lunch. The two had walked the few short blocks from her place to Annie’s Diner, the most popular of the town’s few diners.

      It had been perfect. The men they had passed on the way to the café had smiled knowingly at Wyatt, and the women had smiled excitedly at Dorrie. Obviously, Sibleyville was ready for another wedding. Although given that Quinn was still suffering repercussions from the last one, Wyatt thought maybe it was best that weddings didn’t happen that often around town.

      Wyatt forcibly pushed those thoughts out of his head. Quinn was probably long gone by now, on her way back to Los Angeles, looking for another movie director to harass. And Wyatt was here with Dorrie, the woman he could build a life with. A life of complete and utter silence, because Dorrie hadn’t said more than six words since they had sat at the table.

      Wyatt didn’t necessarily need to talk for the sake of talking—he was a mortician, after all—but he didn’t think that an occasional exchange of words was asking too much. He could barely get Quinn to shut up.

      Wyatt glanced around the diner and noticed more than a few of the older couples at the various tables throughout the diner staring at him. Vera Spears winked at him and gave him an encouraging nod. Wyatt inwardly groaned. Sometimes, he really hated living in a small town.

      Wyatt turned back to Dorrie, who was staring at him and quickly looked back down at her plate. She really was cute. She had sun-kissed golden skin, bright brown eyes and dark hair that she wore parted down the middle. She barely reached his shoulders in her sensible pumps. The word stiletto probably wasn’t even a part of her vocabulary. She was petite, sweet and soft in all the right places. Just like a wife should be.

      Wyatt cleared his throat and asked, “So—you like the pot pie?”

      “Yes.”

      “My mom makes a great pot pie.”

      Dorrie murmured in response and continued pushing around her food. Wyatt thought about banging his head on the table. Maybe that would get a reaction beyond mild politeness. Quinn probably would have gone on a ten-minute monologue about her movie character’s dining proclivities.

      Wyatt felt guilty once more. He shouldn’t be thinking about Quinn, let alone comparing Dorrie to Quinn.

      Dorrie suddenly looked up at him and asked hesitantly, “Your mother said that you’re interested in plants and flowers?”

      “I am,” he said, trying to hide his surprise that she had asked him a personal question. “I mean, it’s just a hobby but it’s something I really enjoy. You know, dealing with flowers kind of offsets the mortuary business. We haven’t seen a lot of deaths in the last two years, but it’s always the prospect—”