The Millionaire Comes Home. Mary Lynn Baxter

the kitchen.

      “What did he say?” Grace asked.

      “He thanked me, then said he was going across the street to check on his car.”

      Grace merely nodded, her hands busy placing the fresh fruit on the tray.

      “So what’s with you two?” Zelma asked, a slight twitter in her tone.

      Grace’s head popped up. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

      “Now, honey, you can’t fool this old fuddy-duddy. I know when electricity’s crackling between two people.”

      “You’re imagining things.”

      Zelma eyed her carefully. “I don’t think so, but for now I’ll mind my own business. But when you’re ready to talk, I’m ready to listen.” She paused with a wink. “I’ll meet you back in the garden room.”

      Grace sagged against the counter, her heart beating far too hard and fast against her chest.

      “It won’t be long now, Mr. Hardesty, and I’ll have you up and running.”

      Denton put his sunglasses on, then stared at the mechanic. “So you think you found the problem?”

      “I know I have. It’s just taking a tad longer than I thought to fix it.”

      “No problem. You take all the time you need.”

      Raymond gave him a puzzled look. “You mean you ain’t in no hurry?”

      “That’s exactly what I mean.”

      Raymond rubbed his slightly grizzled chin. “Whatever you say.”

      Denton slapped a couple of bills in Raymond’s hand then turned and headed back across the street.

      A few minutes later he was opening the door to his room when a man strode by without so much as a nod. Strange-looking dude, Denton thought, comparing the stranger to someone out of a Star Wars movie. He was tall and thin to the point of gauntness. A hank of dark hair hung over his left eye.

      He certainly didn’t appear as if he belonged at Grace House, but then neither did he, Denton reminded himself scathingly.

      Once he was in his room, he walked to the window and peered out at the front lawn. Though glorious beauty filled his vision, he failed to appreciate it, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a roll of antacids. After popping one in his mouth and chewing it, he released a deep sigh, then turned and stared at the antique four-poster bed with a step stool enabling a person to climb aboard. He smiled with no humor.

      What the hell was he doing here? Had he lost his mind?

      Yes.

      No doubt about it: he’d taken complete leave of all his faculties. And why? Grace. It didn’t take anyone with smarts to figure that out. Still, his actions made no sense.

      Granted, when she’d opened the door, he’d felt as if he’d been hit upside the head with a crowbar. For some unknown reason, he’d assumed she hadn’t hung around Ruby, either—that she’d flown the coop long ago. So much for that assumption. She’d not only remained but she’d gone into business here and apparently was very successful in her endeavor, which made him glad for her.

      What a looker she’d turned into. Oh, she’d always been pretty, especially at eighteen, blessed with a natural beauty that few women could claim but all envied. That naturalness had stayed with her; only now it was enhanced by maturity and a hint of makeup.

      Little else about her had changed, though, especially that delightful dimple. That had always captivated him and still did. He’d found himself wanting to dip his tongue in it the way he’d done so many times in the past.

      A frown marred his face at the same time his loins stirred. Suddenly he fought the urge to grab another antacid, turn and get the hell out of there as fast as his legs could carry him. Yet he didn’t move a muscle. It was as though his thoughts had him welded to the spot.

      And that apron. He couldn’t forget about that. He hadn’t been making fun when he’d called attention to it, either. He’d been intrigued. And delighted. How quaint. How uncitified. But again, only someone with Grace’s whimsical beauty and charm could pull it off. The thought of any of his women friends donning an apron was so ludicrous he almost laughed out loud.

      For his own peace of mind he wished Grace were married with 2.3 children and sported wrinkles and a little more fat. Instead she had remained thin, but not too thin, because her breasts seemed to fill her knit shirt to his standard of perfection.

      Of course, her hair had changed. She now wore it in a short style that was a little edgy, a little messy. However, its color remained intact, the light-brown locks with blond streaks still contrasting sensationally with her dark eyes and luscious thick lashes.

      She oozed a natural sexuality that he’d bet she wasn’t even aware of. When he was in the room with her, he found it difficult to breathe. He was sure other men had been affected the same way.

      So why had she been content to stagnate here where obviously there were no available men? No wonder she wasn’t married. Suddenly he felt a small pinch of gladness at the thought, which was absurd since he was only passing through.

      No matter. After he had walked out of her life the way he had, he was surprised she’d let him in the door. Maybe he’d been just as much a passing fancy for her as she’d been for him. Again it didn’t matter. He had sworn off women, at least those with marriage in mind.

      One wife, followed by a nasty divorce, was enough for him.

      Yet he realized now more than ever that he’d never forgotten Grace or that night of passion they’d shared. He’d been nuts about her and hadn’t wanted to leave her. He remembered that all too clearly. However, nothing had worked out according to either of their plans.

      But that was then and this was now. He was no longer the horny college student who thought he’d die if he couldn’t make her his, thinking he was in love. Lust. That was the emotion that had driven him. Love hadn’t had anything to do with it, or so he’d convinced himself, having felt rotten at the outcome of their relationship.

      “Damn,” he muttered, reaching for another antacid.

      This time there was no relief for the sour taste in his mouth and in his stomach. All he had to do was walk out of the room, tell Grace he couldn’t stay, and that would be that. His life would be back on track once again, back to Dallas, back to his job.

      And back to his nightmares about the plane crash that had brought him sleepless nights and restless days. Why had he been the only one spared that fateful day? He had walked away from the scattered debris and the mangled bodies of his best friend and the pilot.

      It had been nearly a year since a malfunction in the engine had sent the small plane to the ground. Would the dark end of that bright spring day haunt him forever?

      As if his body had suddenly become detached from his mind, Denton reached for his cell phone and punched in the number of his firm in Dallas.

      Four

      “See you later, dearie.”

      “I’m counting on that,” Grace said, mustering up a sincere smile for Zelma.

      Zelma winked, then whispered in a conspiratorial tone,” I’m going to join the old man for a late siesta.”

      This time Grace grinned openly. “Works for me.”

      Zelma’s attractive features sobered. “You really ought to think about—”

      “Don’t you dare say it. Don’t you dare think it.”

      “Oops, looks like I stepped in over my head again.”

      “Close to it,” Grace countered, though her smile was back intact.

      “It’s just