Wedding For One. Dawn Atkins

At best, that would be a short-term solution and, at worst, a heartbreaking disaster. Whatever Nathan felt for her was mostly the backwash of nostalgia. Even if it was more, she never stayed in relationships, and Nathan was the kind of guy who stayed and stayed. And stayed.

      No. She had to find another way to cure Nathan’s loneliness besides sleeping with him. The sooner she did, the sooner she could leave everything about Copper Corners that bugged her—her parents, the candy factory and, most of all, Nathan.

      Still pondering, she went home, took a shower and got dressed for work, choosing the most inappropriate thing she’d brought—a lime-green miniskirt and tank top.

      “Good lord, Mariah. You’re not going to work in that,” her mother said, watching her dash from her bedroom to the bathroom to brush her teeth.

      “It’ll be fine, Mother.”

      Her mother tsked at her from the doorway. “Pardon me for saying this, dear, but the Salvation Army is for people who can’t afford clothes. Why don’t you spend some of the money I gave you on something new? Let’s go to Tucson and shop.”

      “My clothes are fine,” she said, scrubbing her teeth.

      Watching Mariah critically in the mirror, her mother lifted her hair off her neck. “Sergei could really work with this.”

      “My hair’s fine.”

      “You have split ends everywhere!”

      “Didn’t you know? Split ends are all the rage.” She rinsed her mouth. When she raised up, her mother examined the size label on her blouse. “Mom…” she warned, but her mother patted the label in place, smiled and left.

      “My clothes are fine!” she shouted down the hall. She had a terrible feeling it was too late. Meredith, the steamroller, had begun to chug into gear.

      MARIAH PUSHED through Cactus Confections’ glass doors with a purpose. It was time for the next phase of her plan—getting banned from the premises. Lenore whistled at the sight of her. “What a hot tamale,” she said. “Louise, get out here and see this.” She turned back to Mariah. “Won’t Nathan be pleased?”

      Oops. Maybe she should have gone with the baggy black jeans again, she thought as she headed for Nathan’s office. She’d meant to look inappropriate, not sexy.

      “Late again,” Nathan said, not looking up.

      “Sorry,” she chimed happily.

      He looked up, then boggled. “You’re going to make men fall into the machinery dressed like that.”

      “Should I go home and change?” she asked innocently.

      “Forget it. You’re already two hours and twelve minutes late. Take a look at this printout.” He turned a bound thickness of computer paper to face the guest chair across from his desk.

      She made a cross with her fingers and held it out, as if warding off the undead. “Anything but numbers.”

      “Look, Mariah. If we’re going to do this, you’ve got to work with me here. Pay attention and make an effort.”

      “Okay,” she said, “but don’t think I’d even consider staying.”

      “Right,” he said.

      “Just so we’re clear.” Then she smiled. “All right. Tell me everything I need to know.” So I can mess things up.

      Nathan showed her the computer printout and explained the operations of Cactus Confections—the production calendar, hiring policies, the business plan, profit projections, equipment maintenance schedules, payroll, bookkeeping, on and on.

      She did her best to act disinterested and confused, but she was annoyed to find it interesting. It wasn’t because of the way Nathan explained it, either, because every time he looked at her—or her cleavage—he lost his thought and she had to remind him what he was saying.

      She was mostly pleased that it all made sense. She did have some expertise—Nathan was right about that. She’d seen the inside workings of a small ice cream store, and built her jewelry business and the kiddie party company, so she understood profit and loss and building a customer base.

      She hid all that from Nathan, though, with stupid questions. She was soon delighted to see him grit his teeth whenever she interrupted him with an inane query.

      “No, we don’t have our own trucks, Mariah. That’s why we use a distributor, remember?” He tapped the product list. “We count on our distributors to get product out fast and fresh. ‘Homegrown, handmade and fresh to you from Arizona’s desert,’ is our slogan. Stale product means lost accounts. And every account we have is critical.”

      “Critical?”

      “Yes. This is a specialty market.”

      “What’s your advertising budget like?” Whoops. A sensible question.

      “Good question,” he said, surprised. His gaze zipped to her face—after a little side trip to her cleavage. “You’ve hit on a problem. Let me introduce you to our marketing man, Bernie Longfellow, and that’ll explain everything.”

      “I remember Bernie. He used to pretend to steal my nose.”

      “You’ll probably recognize the suit he’s wearing from back then, too.” Nathan led her to a tiny office next to the entrance to the factory floor. He tapped on the door, then opened it.

      Bernie was in the act of peeling an invoice off his cheek. He’d apparently been napping at his desk when Nathan knocked. He looked the same, except his hair was now white, instead of streaked with gray. “Hey, there,” he said, blinking rapidly.

      “Bernie, Bernie,” Nathan said affectionately. “You’ve gotta quit partying ’til dawn. Say hello to Mariah.”

      “Well, look at you, all grown up.” He stood to shake her hand, smiling fondly.

      She blushed, feeling twelve all over again.

      “I heard you were coming to work for us.”

      She resisted the urge to explain his error and just smiled.

      “Why don’t you tell Mariah a little about our marketing plan, Bernie?”

      “Marketing plan? Now, let me see…Where did I put that?” He pretended to pat the surface of his desk. Mariah noticed he didn’t even have a computer on his desk. “Ah, here it is.” He picked up an index-card box and delivered it to her like a present. “Our customers,” he said, grinning broadly. “And the plan?” He tapped his skull. “All up here.”

      “Bernie’s an old-style marketer,” Nathan explained.

      “Marketer, my ass. Pardon the language. I’m a salesman. I don’t need no phony-baloney title. I’m in sales. Life is sales. And sales is personality. And relationships. I’ve got good steady customers who know me and trust me. That’s how it works.”

      “I see,” Mariah said. She flipped through the dog-eared cards and saw that in addition to order dates and amounts, the cards contained wives’ birthdays and reminders to ask about how kids’ weddings had gone. “Impressive,” she said, handing him back the box. “Have you had any luck with the new coffee-houses and gourmet grocery stores? Seems to me I’ve seen some obscure products there—Australian rock candy and Native-American flat breads. I bet our candies would fit right in.”

      “Fads come and go,” he said. “We stick with the basics, and the basics stick with us. I’ve been here twenty-five years and I know what works.”

      “I’m sure you do. I know my father counts on you.”

      He looked pleased at the recognition, then smiled wistfully at her. “I remember when I used to steal your nose. You remember that?”

      “Sure do.” She hated feeling twelve. “What ads do you run?”