A Mother's Wish: Wanted: Perfect Partner / Father's Day. Debbie Macomber

already figured it out.”

      She slid the bowl of pretzels closer and grabbed another handful. “That’s true.”

      Steve opened the card that had come with the flowers and rolled his eyes. “This is from Nancy, all right,” he muttered. “I’d never write anything this hokey.”

      The waitress came with another mug of beer and Steve paid for it. “Do you want more pretzels?” he asked Meg.

      “Please.” Then in a lower voice, she added, “This type of situation always makes me hungry.”

      She licked the salt from her fingertips. “Has my daughter, Lindsey, been in contact with you?”

      “No, but then I wouldn’t know, would I?”

      Meg was holding the pretzel in front of her mouth. “Why wouldn’t you?”

      “Because Lindsey would be writing to Nancy.”

      Meg’s head dropped in a gesture of defeat. “You’re right. Much more of this craziness and heaven only knows what they could do to our lives.”

      “We need to take control,” Steve said.

      “I totally agree with you,” was her response. She took a sip of her beer and set the mug down. “I shouldn’t be drinking this on an empty stomach—it’ll go straight to my head.”

      “The bar’s got great sandwiches.”

      “Pretzels are fine.” Apparently she’d realized that she was holding the bowl, and she shoved it back to the center of the table. “Sorry,” she muttered.

      “No problem.”

      He saw her wince and recalled that she’d been limping earlier. “Is there something wrong with your foot?”

      “The shoes I wore to work were too tight,” she said, speaking so quietly he had to strain to hear.

      “Here,” he said, reaching under the table for her feet and setting them on his lap.

      “What are you doing?” she asked in a shocked voice.

      “I thought I’d rub them for you.”

      “You’d do that?”

      “Yes.” It didn’t seem so odd to him. The fact was, he hated to see her in pain. “Besides, we need to talk over how we’re going to handle this situation. I have a feeling that we’ll have to be in top mental form to deal with these kids.”

      “You’re right.” She closed her eyes and purred like a well-fed kitten when he removed her tennis shoes and kneaded her aching feet.

      “Feel better?” he asked after a couple of minutes.

      She nodded, her eyes still closed. “I think you should stop,” she said, sounding completely unconvincing.

      “Why?” He asked the question, but he stopped and bent down to pick up her shoes, which he’d placed on the floor.

      “Thank you,” Meg said. She looked around a little self-consciously as she slipped her shoes back on and tied the laces.

      Feeling somewhat embarrassed by his uncharacteristic response to her, Steve cleared his throat and picked up his beer. “Do you have any ideas?” he asked.

      She stared at him as if she didn’t know what he was talking about, then straightened abruptly. “Oh, you mean for dealing with the kids. No, not really. What about you? Any suggestions?”

      “Well, we’re agreed that we’ve got to stop letting them run our lives.”

      “Exactly. We can’t allow them to force us into a relationship.”

      He nodded. But if that was the case, he wondered, why did he experience the almost overwhelming desire to kiss her? All of a sudden, it bothered him that they were discussing strategies that would ensure the end of any contact between them.

      He imagined leaning toward her, touching his lips to hers ….

      There’s something wrong with this picture, Conlan, he said to himself, but he couldn’t keep from studying her—and picturing their kiss.

      He’d been wrong about her face, he decided. She was beautiful, with classic features, large eyes, a full mouth. He’d trailed his finger down the curve of her cheek the first time they’d met, and now he did so a second time, mentally.

      She knew what he was thinking. Steve swore she did. The pulse in her throat hammered wildly and she looked away.

      Steve did, too. He didn’t know what was happening, didn’t want to know. He reached for his beer and gulped down two deep swallows.

      What on earth was he doing? Rubbing her feet, thinking about kissing her. He didn’t need a woman messing up his life!

      Especially a woman like Meg Remington.

      “So you met Steve again,” Laura said. They sat on a bench in Lincoln Park enjoying huge ice-cream cones. A ferry eased toward the dock at Fauntleroy.

      “Who told you that?” Meg answered, deciding to play dumb.

      “Lindsey, who else? You really didn’t think you fooled her, did you?”

      “No.” Clearly she had no talent for subterfuge.

      “So tell me how your meeting went.”

      Meg didn’t answer. She couldn’t. She wasn’t sure what, if anything, she and Steve had accomplished during their meeting at the bar. They’d come up with a plan to dissuade his sister and her daughter, but the more hours that passed, the more ridiculous it seemed. And Meg’s willingness, indeed her eagerness, to see Steve again was disturbing.

      In retrospect she saw that it’d been a mistake for them to get together. All she could think about was how he’d lifted her legs onto his lap and rubbed the tired achiness away. There’d been a sudden explosion of awareness between them. A living, breathing, throbbing awareness.

      Rarely had Meg wanted a man to kiss her more. Right in the middle of a sports bar, for heaven’s sake! It was the craziest thing to happen to her in years. That of itself was distressing, but what happened afterward baffled her even more.

      Melting ice cream dripped onto her hand and Meg hurriedly licked it away.

      “Meg?” Laura said, studying her. “What’s wrong?”

      “Nothing,” she said, laughing off her friend’s concern. “What could possibly be wrong?”

      “You haven’t been yourself the last couple of days.”

      “Sure I have,” she said, then deciding it was pointless to go on lying, she blurted out the truth. “I’m afraid I could really fall for this guy.”

      Laura laughed. “What’s so awful about that?”

      “For one thing, he isn’t interested in me.”

      This time Laura eyed her suspiciously. “What makes you think that?”

      “Several things.”

      Laura bit into her waffle cone. “Name one.”

      “Well, he wanted to meet so we could figure out a way to keep the kids from manipulating our lives.”

      “That sounds suspiciously like an excuse to see you again,” Laura murmured.

      “Trust me, it wasn’t. Steve did everything but come right out and say he’s not interested in me.”

      “You’re sure about this?”

      “Of course I am! There was ample opportunity for him to suggest we get to know each other better, and he didn’t.” She’d assumed Steve had experienced the same physical attraction she had, but maybe she’d been wrong.

      Lindsey and Brenda had insisted