To A Macallister Born. Joan Elliott Pickart

chuckled, sat back again and shook his head.

      “You’re all smiling like Cheshire cats,” he said. “You obviously believe I’m full of hot air. Oh, easy pickings, that’s what you are. Money in my pocket. How long before I can collect this bachelor bet? Do I have to be a hundred and two and still single before you pay up?”

      “We’ll work out the details of that part of the bachelor bet later, big boy,” Aunt Charity said. “Here comes our waitress. Let’s eat. I’m starving to death while I’m sitting here.”

      “So are we,” Andrea said, patting her protruding stomach. “Baby Hamilton is doing gymnastics to let me know she’s hungry.”

      “She? She?” Brandon said, raising his eyebrows. “Have you finally accepted the fact that I’m right? That we’re having a girl? A daughter?”

      “Sure, she has,” Jack said. “I told you that when Forrest finally lost the baby bet, the baton was passed to the daddy-to-be. The fathers have been right every time since. If you say it’s a girl, Brandon, then it’s a girl. Your wife is a smart lady, and realized that the baby bet has proven itself. You’re having a girl.”

      “And smart person that I am,” Andrea said, “I’m putting my money on your falling in love and losing the bachelor bet, Jack.”

      Over the next hour, Jennifer carried out her hostess duties by rote.

      She was furious at herself. She’d behaved like an idiot in front of Brandon’s friend Jack MacAllister. Granted, she had just cause to have been frightened of Jack.

      But then? Oh, good grief. Had she dismissed the incident as a misunderstanding, regained her composure and performed in a professional manner?

      Oh, no, not her. She’d been caught up in a mish-mash of lingering anger, along with acute feminine awareness of Jack’s blatant masculinity. She’d turned into Ms. Fumble Fingers, dropping the menus, then added Shrew-of-the-Year to her titles while showing the group to their table.

      Jennifer stepped behind the podium and stared at the reservation book, not really seeing the schedule of diners yet to arrive.

      Even now, she thought, Jack MacAllister seemed to be somehow reaching out and touching her from way across the room. He was just so…there, and just so…male, and just so…

      Heat feathered down her back, then wove into her to pulse low in her body. She shook her head in self-disgust, then looked at Jack from beneath her lashes.

      Why? she wondered frantically. Why did that man have such a powerful and unsettling impact on her? He was just an ordinary man, for Pete’s sake.

      Well, no, that wasn’t entirely true. She’d already conceded that Jack was an eleven on a scale of one to ten. He was so ruggedly handsome, so perfectly proportioned, and that thick, dark auburn hair of his was just begging to have feminine fingers sift through it.

      And his eyes? Oh, those chocolate fudge sauce eyes mesmerized her and made it difficult to breathe.

      Jennifer, stop it, she ordered herself, shifting her gaze back to the book. She was getting a grip—right now. All she had to do was bid Jack a pleasant goodbye as he left the dining room, and that would be that. She’d never see him again.

      She frowned.

      Wait a minute. Was he a guest at Hamilton House? If so, how long would he be staying in Prescott? Would he be popping into the dining room for dinner night after night? It stood to reason he’d be registered at his friend’s hotel, but for how many days?

      It didn’t matter, she thought, lifting her chin. She’d been thrown off-kilter by Jack MacAllister for reasons she couldn’t begin to fathom. But she was on full-alert now, her protective walls firmly in place. She was hereby immune to the spell-weaving Mr. MacAllister, even if he smiled that knock-’emdead smile of his.

      And the minute she got home tonight she was throwing away the flowers from Megan’s bridal bouquet. Unsuperstitious or not, she wasn’t taking any more chances.

      Very good. She was back in control. Everything was fine. Thank heavens all of this ridiculous nonsense was at an end.

      Jack listened absently as Aunt Charity related a tale of Brandon, Ben, Taylor and Jennifer’s mischievous deeds when they were children growing up together in Prescott.

      Ah, here we go, he thought. Some people had just entered the dining room, which meant—yes, there it was…Jennifer’s smile. It lit up her face and caused those marvelous green eyes of hers to sparkle to the point where he was dazzled from across the room.

      He’d watched her move through the tables with elegant, natural grace. She was femininity personified, and the heat throbbing low in his body told him that he was very aware of that fact, both mentally and physically. The fascinating Ms. Mackane was turning him inside out.

      Which didn’t make one bit of sense.

      Jennifer was the type of woman he steered clear of, big time. She was, as the saying went, encumbered—with a five-year-old son, a home, a life-style that virtually shouted that the missing ingredients were a husband and father. No way. That was not his scene, not even close.

      He’d also learned that Jennifer wasn’t seeing anyone, wasn’t into the singles’ dating scene. She did not, therefore, know how to play the no-strings, no-commitment game.

      Jennifer didn’t wish to remarry, which was a point in her favor. A shaky point. He’d heard that bit before, but when a guy came along who collected a hefty paycheck, lo and behold, how quickly that tune could change.

      Nope, he wanted no part of the lovely Jennifer. She was more than a pleasure to look at, was feisty and funny, and dynamite when she got her temper in a roar, but he would cut a wide path around her during the remainder of his stay in Prescott.

      Jack watched as Jennifer led a couple to a small table in the center of the room. The man spoke to her, and Jennifer laughed as she handed the pair their menus.

      A flash of heat rocketed through him as he heard the lilting sound of Jennifer’s laughter. He shifted slightly in his chair and frowned.

      Damn, he thought. Jennifer was pushing his libido buttons again. Why was she capable of doing that?

      He controlled his actions and reactions toward women. He set the tempo, called the shots, and exited stage left at the first hint of possessiveness on the part of the woman in question.

      He treated women with respect, showed them a good time, but he didn’t particularly trust them.

      He sure didn’t know why Jennifer Mackane was able to hang him out to dry, but he’d had enough of it. She was upsetting his peace of mind and driving his raging body over the edge.

      Why the hell was this happening to him—?

      “Right, Jack?” Brandon said, snapping Jack back to attention.

      “What?” Jack said. “Oh, sorry. I was off somewhere, I guess.”

      “She’s thirty-three,” Aunt Charity said, “but she looks younger, don’t you think?”

      “Who?” Jack said, an expression of pure innocence on his face.

      “Give it up, hotshot,” Aunt Charity said. “I’ve been sitting here watching you watching Jennifer through this entire meal.”

      “Me?” Jack said, raising his eyebrows. “Well, I may have glanced at her a time or two, but there’s no harm in looking at the scenery, Aunt Charity.”

      “That’s true, dear,” Aunt Prudence said, “but you need to do more than look at our Jennifer. You should, as the gentleman I’m certain you are, speak with Jennifer privately and sincerely apologize for frightening her while you studied her home.”

      “I thoroughly agree,” Andrea said decisively.

      “Buy her some candy from the snazzy shop