Never Too Late for Love. Marie Ferrarella

sound of her laughter slipped under his skin, arousing him before he could steel himself. He banked down the reaction that had no place within the good deed he was trying to accomplish.

      “Not that I’m averse to stimulating conversation, or stimulating anything,” she put in, her eyes beginning to reclaim their sparkle, “but what makes you say that I need company?”

      Instead of answering, Bruce cupped her chin in his hand and raised it slightly. Taking out his handkerchief again, he lightly dabbed at the corner of her eye where one renegade tear had refused to obey and remain confined.

      For one very long moment, as he touched her, her eyes held his. Something warm slipped around her, like a protective embrace. But the next moment, it was gone. Embarrassed, Margo drew back her head.

      “Just a hunch.” With a shrug, his eyes still on hers, Bruce tucked the handkerchief back info his pocket. “Maybe it’s me who needs the company.”

      He was attempting to be gallant. When was the last time a man had been nothing more than gallant to her? So long, she wasn’t quite sure if she remembered.

      Her smile was light, teasing, as she slipped her arm through his. “Well, far be it from me to deny a handsome man his platonic request.”

      She made it sound as if she was given to fielding platonic requests all the time. Bruce sincerely doubted, as they walked back into the Renaissance Building, that Margo McCloud met very many men who desired only a platonic relationship with her. Not once they heard her lusty laughter.

      

      She should have had twelve children, all girls, Margo thought with a pang that bordered on longing as she hung up the telephone.

      Better yet, she should have had Melanie cloned as a little girl. That way she’d be assured of revisiting this wonderful feeling periodically.

      Since business was slow at Dreams of Yesterday, where she’d been working every day now for two weeks, helping out until Melanie returned, Margo took a moment to reflect. It was a silly thought, but not without its merits or its reasons. Her life had grown tremendously since she’d left that small Texas town with one suitcase, a swollen belly and a blank future before her. When she had ridden the bus out of Hemp, she’d been an unwed, pregnant teenage dropout, hitting the lowest point of her young life.

      But even though she’d been frightened and emotionally battered, she hadn’t surrendered to defeat. Hadn’t allowed herself to become just another statistic in a world that held on to its losers as tightly as it did to its winners. She’d gotten her diploma, and then a degree in languages. Now she traveled the world, teaching languages to Americans who found themselves working in foreign countries. She had friends on all the major continents and could literally get along anywhere.

      But all her accomplishments paled beside the triumph she’d reached in having Melanie. In keeping Melanie rather than giving her up. The very best part of her life had always revolved around Melanie, around raising her and making the promise within a newborn become a very positive reality.

      God, but she fervently wished she could do it all over again.

      Joyce came up behind her, placing the stack of newly acquired autographed celebrity stills on the counter beside the telephone. In the foreground, a very satisfied customer made her way out of the shop Joyce and Melanie partnered in Bedford.

      “Good news?” she asked hesitantly, peering at Margo’s expression.

      With a self-deprecating smile, Margo turned to her daughter’s best friend, a young woman she’d known since before Joy had said her first word.

      “Yes, as a matter of fact it is.” Joy was looking at her oddly. “Why?”

      Joyce made a noncommittal sound as she shrugged self-consciously. “You had a very strange look on your face when I walked up.”

      That would be the nostalgia, Margo thought. “Mothers do that when they suddenly realize that they have fully grown daughters who have lives of their own.” She rallied before she could slip back into that wistful mood again. “Speaking of whom, that was Melanie on the phone. She and Lance are coming back tomorrow.” Her voice began to pick up speed, reflecting her heightened energy as she simultaneously made plans and talked. “That means I’ll be out of your hair soon.” Which studio was Jason Riveria working for these days, Margo wondered, distracted. He’d have a lock on those harem props she needed, she was sure of it.

      “Margo, I wouldn’t have known what to do if you hadn’t been here to help out.” If Joyce had her way, Melanie and Margo would handle all the sales while she buried herself in the back with the accounting details. “I’m not very good with people.”

      Roused by the distress she heard, Margo looked at the young woman. She placed her arm around Joy’s shoulder, drawing her closer. The trouble with Joy was she had a poor self-image, and that was all her mother’s doing. Or lack of doing, she amended.

      “Yes, you are, you’re just quieter than I am. But then, most people are.” She winked, as if that was a secret instead of a given. “You know, I’ve been thinking...”

      Joyce didn’t know whether to be wary or let herself go along with whatever was coming. Probably the latter. Not that she had much of a choice if Margo’s idea involved her. To her knowledge, no one had ever been able to stop Melanie’s mother when she got rolling.

      Joyce’s grin had a touch of nervousness to it. “Is this where I say, uh-oh?”

      Margo laughed, giving Joy an affectionate squeeze. “No, but Lance might when he realizes what sort of a family he married into.”

      The sound of her laughter was the first thing he heard as Bruce entered the shop.

      It seemed fitting. It was that sound, flittering in and out of his brain these past two weeks, that had brought him here this afternoon. He’d come here on his day off rather than getting to the myriad of things that he’d been letting pile up in his personal life.

      The fact that he had, that he caught himself thinking about Margo at unlikely moments, surprised him. If he didn’t count that incredibly annoying woman he’d been forced to deal with at the local courthouse the one time he’d gotten a traffic ticket, no woman had ever intruded into his thoughts beyond the moment. The only one who had ever occupied his mind for more than a fleeting moment was Ellen.

      Margo was nothing like Ellen.

      Maybe that was the reason.

      The reason he was here, he insisted silently, was just to see how she was doing. When he’d dropped her off here after the reception, she’d told him that she was fine. He would have taken her at her word, but the moonlight had played along her skin, urging him to take one last, lingering look. When he did, there’d been something about her, something in her eyes, that had made him doubt the validity of her assertion.

      He just wanted to make sure she was all right, he told himself again. After all, she was Lance’s mother-in-law, and although there was no legal term for the bond that he now shared with her, that didn’t mean there wasn’t one. Like it or not they were family, and his was small enough for him to take a personal interest in each member, now that he had his priorities straight and had lived through his period of atonement.

      Margo turned toward the doorway, alerted by the musical chimes that someone had entered the store.

      If she was surprised to see Bruce walking in, she didn’t show it. Instead, she came around the small counter, her hands outstretched in a warm greeting, a smile unfurling on her lips like a flag at first light.

      The man had a gift, she thought, for appearing just at the right moment. She gave him a quick, enthusiastic hug. “Just the man I need.”

      He didn’t know whether to be flattered or braced. He suspected that a great many people felt that way in her presence. Finding himself disengaged from a hug he was just beginning to enjoy, he looked down at Margo and raised one eyebrow in silent query. “Oh?”

      “Yes.”