The Stranger. Kathleen O'Brien

darn sexy, once you saw the intelligent laughter in his eyes and the easy tolerance in his smile. And he had a wonderful, strong body.

      Mallory and Roddy dated each other more often than either of them dated anyone else, but they both understood it would never come to anything. Though no words had ever been spoken on the subject, she knew that he’d always been half in love with Mindy. Sadly, the ten-year age difference had proved fatal. Roddy wasn’t willing to declare himself and risk rejection. Mindy, young and self-absorbed, had never even guessed.

      “What trouble are you trying to stir up today?”

      Roddy blinked innocently. “Trouble? Gosh, you say that like I do it all the time.”

      “That’s because you do,” Kieran put in, his mouth full of ice. He held out his empty drink. The bartender nodded and turned to retrieve the bottle of imported single malt Scotch whiskey they kept on hand solely for the McClintocks, who might not be the only ones in Heyday who could appreciate it, but were just about the only ones who could afford it.

      Kieran turned his gorgeous blue eyes toward Mallory. “Don’t tell Claire I was drinking. But this is one stunt I just can’t pull sober.”

      “You’re not pulling it, you coward.” Roddy shook his head. “I am.”

      Mallory growled. “Will someone please tell me what’s going on?”

      Kieran waved the question to Roddy, who grinned happily and sucked down some ginger ale, clearly just to prolong the suspense.

      “Roddy Hartland…”

      “Okay, okay. So you know Doug Metzler, right?”

      Mallory frowned. “Yeah. Of course.”

      “And you know he’s an unmitigated stuffed shirt, right?”

      Mallory smiled. “Um…he holds three loans of mine, Roddy, so I’m not sure I want to call him that out loud.”

      “I do. He’s a pompous zebra’s ass, and I’ve decided to give him the apoplectic fit he so richly deserves.”

      Kieran began to chuckle. “He will have a fit.” He drank some of his new Scotch. “Really. When he sees you, he’ll have a fit and turn purple.”

      Mallory still didn’t understand a thing. She glowered at Roddy, who was trying so hard to hold back his laughter that he was getting a little color in his own cheeks.

      “Okay, look. Here’s the deal. Metzler is the current president of the country club. And frankly, the man’s got a stick up his—” Roddy wrinkled his nose guiltily. “I mean, he’s so uptight nobody can stand him. Yesterday he had the nerve to issue a dress code for the club. No sandals. No T-shirts. According to Doug-God-complex-Metzler’s official memo, you won’t be served if you aren’t wearing closed shoes and a shirt with a collar. “

      Mallory shrugged. “Well, you are wearing a shirt with a collar.”

      Kieran, who had just swallowed, choked on his expensive liquor. “Yeah, but that’s not all he’s wearing.”

      “What?” Mallory narrowed her eyes. Roddy leaned back, looking insufferably smug, delighted with his own ingenuity.

      And then she finally caught on. What else was he wearing? Scooting her chair back, she ducked her head under the tablecloth and took a peek.

      Oh, my God.

      A skirt.

      An honest-to-God, bonafide skirt, the kind the Heyday cheerleaders wore. The navy-blue pleats folded gracefully around Roddy’s tanned, athletic thighs. His muscular calves were bare and a little hairy above his sneakers.

      She started to laugh as she lifted her head, and in her helpless mirth she banged it noisily on the underside of the table. Still, she had to thank him. He had not only agreed to loan her a fortune, he had made her laugh on a day when she hadn’t thought that was possible.

      “Oh, Roddy,” she said. “You goof.”

      Roddy was back to looking innocent. “What? I read the official memo word for word. It didn’t say anything about skirts.” He reached out and gave her hand a tap. “But actually, sweetie, you might want to scram before Doug gets here. Things are likely to get ugly.”

      “Hell, yeah, they will,” Kieran said to Mallory earnestly. “I’ve seen him standing up in that skirt. The man’s so bowlegged it’s tragic.”

      Still smiling, Mallory gave Roddy a hesitant glance. “But—” She tried to think of a subtle way to remind him why she was here.

      “Go,” he said firmly, and squeezed her hand. “I’m sure you have at least two thousand more important things to do than messing with Doug Metzler’s mind.”

      The grip was unusually firm. He was trying to tell her something. She glanced down at her purse, which, she saw, now had a bright white envelope sticking out of it.

      The money was already there. How had he done that? When had he done it? Perhaps when she and Kieran had been kissing each other hello? Roddy really was a magician. And she could use a magician right about now. If he could make a treasure appear out of nothing, maybe he could make Mindy’s past disappear…

      She smiled at him, hoping he could see her heart in her eyes. She wished she could tell him this was for Mindy. But he had no idea that Mindy had been involved in the Heyday Eight, and she’d never disillusion him about the girl he silently adored.

      “All right,” she said. “If you dorks really are going to start a brawl in here, I guess I would rather be someplace else.”

      She reached over and gave him a kiss. Usually they pecked on the cheek, but this seemed to call for something more heartfelt. She pressed her lips to his, and as she straightened up she whispered, “Thanks.”

      He winked and grinned. “No problem, sweetie. But look. Here comes our resident stranger. I hear he’s your new landlord.”

      She turned quickly. It was true. Tyler Balfour had entered the Wagon. She hadn’t expected him, and, unprepared, she caught her breath, struck anew with his good looks. How had she not realized he was a McClintock the last time he was in town? Only the McClintock genes produced men this dangerously virile.

      “Oh, yeah.” Kieran was nodding, motioning Tyler over. “He’s here to see me. We’ve got business to do.”

      Maybe that was true, but as Tyler approached his gaze seemed locked on Mallory. He was probably a great poker player, she thought. His handsome face was as blank as a mannequin’s. Clearly he had been trained to observe, and not to care.

      Well, fine, she didn’t care, either. She had been humiliatingly gullible the last time he was in Heyday. Emotionally tangled in a failing marriage, she’d been so grateful for the calm sympathy he had projected. Over the weeks, she’d even begun to dream about him, about his comfort turning to something warmer…

      He’d kissed her once. Only once. She was still married, on paper anyhow. And the next day his story had come out.

      As he drew nearer, she gave him a deliberately fake smile. He must know she wasn’t pleased to see him. She’d managed to avoid him for a full week now, even though sometimes she was piercingly aware that they were just inches away from each other, with only a piece of drywall between them.

      Sometimes at night she could hear him on the phone in his apartment, though she could never quite make out the words. She filed that information away, though. If she could hear him, he could hear her.

      “Hi, Tyler,” Kieran said, smiling and rising. “Thanks for coming over. I’ll be ready to leave soon, but I promised Roddy I’d wait a few more minutes. He’s going to put on a fireworks show for us.”

      Kieran seemed to remember suddenly that Tyler was a relative stranger to Heyday. “Oh, sorry. Have you had the chance to meet Roddy Hartland?”

      “I don’t think so.” Tyler