Monahan's Gamble. Elizabeth Bevarly

technicality,” he assured her aloud. “It’ll be a nice night for…” He paused meaningfully. At least, he hoped she considered it a meaningful pause. God knew he sure intended for it to be meaningful. “A lot of things,” he finally concluded, likewise meaningfully. “How about we make a night of it, just the two of us?”

      Autumn gazed back at Sean Monahan in frank disbelief, trying to tamp down the heat that swirled unhampered in her midsection, trying to assure herself he was not doing what he seemed to be doing. He was not coming on to her. He was not asking her out. He was not trying to tell her, with all his discussion of the new moon, that he wanted to be the next man in line to…to…to…

      To date her.

      Was he?

      Oh, surely not. Not Sean Monahan. He, of all men in Marigold, was to be steadfastly avoided. That was why she had so steadfastly avoided him ever since coming to town. Of all the Monahans—and certainly all of them were to be steadfastly avoided—Sean posed the greatest threat. Because although each of the Monahan brothers was handsome and charming and eligible, Sean Monahan was the most handsome, the most charming and, indeed, the most eligible. Where one or two of his brothers did show potential for being the marrying kind—it was widely known that Finn, for example, carried a massive torch for one Violet Demarest, whom Autumn had never met, because Violet no longer lived in Marigold, even if her rather bad reputation did—Sean had never made any secret of his confirmed bachelorhood. On the contrary, Sean seemed to go out of his way to drive home his very absolute intention of remaining single for the rest of his life.

      Which, now that Autumn thought a bit more about it, might actually be just the thing she needed in a…date. Someone who wouldn’t have expectations of anything lasting. Someone with whom she could just have a casual, easy, fun time of it for a few—or four—weeks. Someone who wouldn’t drop to his knees at the end of that four weeks and beg for just one more lunar month, please, for God’s sake, just one. Someone who didn’t crave permanence, so would never propose marriage and, consequently, would never leave her waiting at the altar, filled with humiliation and horror and self-doubt for the third time in a row.

      No, no, no, no, no, a little voice piped up inside her. It wasn’t just Sean whom Autumn had to worry about. She had to think about herself, too. Because as troubling as it was to have men falling for her—even though she knew whatever those men felt was only temporary and would soon go away—there was always that chance that Autumn might fall for one of them. Just because that hadn’t happened since she’d come to Marigold didn’t mean there wouldn’t be a first time. Yes, her lunar-month deadline did pretty much prevent any potentially long-lasting feelings. But she did believe that love could happen much more quickly than that. It wasn’t likely, of course, but it was possible.

      Not that she thought Sean would fall in love with her, because, clearly, he wasn’t capable of such a deep, abiding emotion. Otherwise the man would have been married a long time ago, because there was no shortage of women in town who would like to have reeled him in. Women did talk, after all, especially when they were waiting in line to buy something. Something like, oh, say…bread, for instance. Over the past two years, Autumn had heard more than her fair share of gossip about the local citizenry. And Marigold’s gossip was unusual in that A, it was seldom malicious and B, it was seldom inaccurate.

      Yes, Autumn knew a lot about Sean Monahan. She knew a lot about all of the Monahans, in fact. For instance, she knew that Sean’s little sister, Tess, who taught first grade over at Our Lady of Lourdes Catholic School, was, at this very moment, pregnant by a man who’d been forced to go into the Witness Protection Program. Such talk had been rampant in the bakery over the last month or so. And in addition to Finn Monahan’s torch bearing on behalf of Violet Demarest, Autumn also knew that Miriam Thornbury, the local librarian, had a major thing for Rory Monahan, even though Rory didn’t know she existed. But then, Rory didn’t really know anyone existed outside of history books, so that wasn’t exactly surprising.

      So Autumn had learned much over the past two years through the snippets of information she’d picked up at work. And the one thing that was most evident, above all else, was the fact that Sean Monahan was Marigold’s confirmed bachelor, a man who would still be single and womanizing upon his centennial.

      Which would make him the perfect candidate for dating, provided Autumn could be assured that she would be embracing the same kind of lifestyle herself at that age. But she’d learned a long time ago that she wasn’t the kind of person who thrived on solitude and independence. No, what she craved was a partnership of the most traditional kind, and a dependence on someone who depended on her in return. She wanted a loving, lasting union with another human being, because she just didn’t like being alone. She wanted a wedding. She wanted a husband. She knew that wasn’t exactly fashionable for women her age, but there it was all the same. She was naturally gregarious and socially outgoing. She didn’t want to spend the rest of her life alone.

      Unfortunately, alone was exactly how she would be spending her life. Because as much as Autumn wished she could find the perfect partner, she simply could not trust her instincts when it came to judging men. Twice, now, she had been certain she’d found Mr. Right. Twice she had put her lifelong trust in a man she had been sure would love her forever. Twice she had been fully prepared to promise herself to a man for better or for worse, in sickness and in health, till death did them part. And twice she had been egregiously mistaken.

      It was so unfair, she thought. The fact that she wanted to be married had caused her to get much too involved with men she shouldn’t have, so she couldn’t get too involved with men, which meant she would never marry. As much as Autumn yearned for a permanent relationship with someone of the opposite sex, on each of the occasions that she’d attempted one, everything had blown up in her face. She didn’t want to suffer the pain of humiliation and loss again. So she suffered the pain of solitude and loneliness instead.

      In the past she’d thought about advertising for a roommate, nurturing a friendship with another woman who had the same likes and dislikes she had herself. But deep down, Autumn knew that wasn’t the kind of company she really wanted or needed. What she wanted, what she needed, was romance. Not the temporary kind. The permanent kind. The kind that started off breathless and lawless and tumultuous and concluded with two arthritic hands and bifocaled gazes locked in easy, comfortable companionship.

      Unfortunately, life experience had taught her that there simply was no such thing. Oh, certainly some people did still find that kind of love, but, clearly, she was not destined for it herself. Two times she had thought she’d found it. Two times she had made the leap. Two times she had enjoyed the breathless and lawless and tumultuous, only to watch it fade to nothing at all. She wasn’t likely to make the leap again. Certainly not with a man like Sean Monahan, who was so clearly determined not to make a commitment.

      “I’m sorry, but I’m busy Wednesday night after work,” she said, injecting more conviction into her voice than she felt in her heart.

      Sean Monahan’s smile fell some, and the light in his eyes dimmed. “Busy?” he echoed, as if he was unfamiliar with the word. Then, to further the image, he added, “I don’t understand.”

      Autumn nibbled her lip thoughtfully and wondered how to verbalize all the troubling, unstructured thoughts that had been tumbling through her brain since she’d found Sean Monahan standing in her shop. Then she noticed how very focused he was on the fact that she was nibbling her lip in thought, so she stopped. When she did, his gaze lifted from her mouth to her eyes, and the look he gave her could have made a glacier spontaneously combust.

      Oh. Dear.

      “Mr. Monahan—”

      “I should go.”

      They started speaking at the same time and ended at the same time, and something about that—both that and the incandescent sizzle in the air that seemed to arc between them then—made Autumn feel as if their destinies, which until today had never crossed, had suddenly gotten tangled up in a way that would be very difficult to unravel.

      “What do I owe you for the coffee?” he asked, reaching deep into his pocket to retrieve some change.

      She