Guardian Angel. Leanne Banks

the perfume made her feel sensual and feminine. Still, when she pictured the two women she was supposed to meet that night, her stomach fluttered with nervousness.

      Talia envisioned a pair of eagle-eyed society matrons who would assess every thread of her clothing, every piece of faux jewelry and every hair on her head. In an act of defiance, she wore her hair down.

      She’d chewed off her rose lipstick for the second time when the phone rang. Her stomach fluttered again. Could it be Trace?

      “Hey, Little Italy,” a man said when she answered. “How’s life in the fast lane?”

      Talia smiled. That nickname had been a source of torment throughout her elementary school years. The only person she allowed to call her that was Kevin. “You’re walking on thin ice, baby brother. You know how I feel about my name. Since exam week is coming up soon, I’ll assume your anxieties have rendered you temporarily insane. I’ll excuse you this time. And I’ve noticed you only call me Italia when you’re more than an arm’s reach away.”

      Kevin laughed. “Yeah, well, I like my face the way it is.”

      “As do all the women in Massachusetts.” She checked her watch. “So, why are you calling me on a Saturday night?”

      She could picture his broad-shouldered shrug in the brief silence that followed. “I just wanted to know how you’re doing. And to let you know I’m going camping up in Vermont with a few of the guys in my dorm for a week after exams. Is that okay with you?”

      Talia’s insides turned to marshmallows. Kevin had always possessed the unique ability to mold her into a complete softy. “That’s great. I’ll miss you, but I’m glad you’re getting away for some fun. How’s campus life?”

      “This semester’s been tough. MIT hasn’t gained its reputation for being the top engineering school by coddling the students.”

      Mentally putting together a care package of cookies and other treats for him, she said, “You sound tired. Are you worried about your exams?”

      “Nah, but I’ll be glad for summer.” He paused. “Listen, Tal, I’ve got this professor friend. He teaches calculus. I told him about you, and showed him your picture—”

      “Hold it right there, Kevin. If you’re going to start matchmaking, more than your face will be in danger.” She knew her brother felt responsible for her lack of dating partners during his high school years. Since she was financing his education now, too, he felt obliged to provide her with suitors beyond the realm of Barringer. “I’m doing fine,” she added. “As a matter of fact, I’m getting ready to go to the country club in a few minutes.”

      Kevin gave a low whistle. “Who’s the lucky guy?”

      Talia rolled her eyes in self-disgust. She’d walked right into that hornets’ nest. “Actually, it’s part of the planning for Lung Awareness Month. I’m meeting a few people for dinner.”

      “Anybody I know?”

      Studying her buffed nails, Talia grimaced. Kevin would be present for some LAM activities, so she’d better go ahead and break the news now. “Trace Barringer.”

      The silence was heavy, fraught with painful memories. Her heart twisted, and she rushed on. “It’s not a real date, Kevin. For some reason I don’t understand, Trace Barringer has been real pushy about this. I tried to put him off, but he’s set on the idea of the mill being directly involved. If it were up to me, I’d tell him to take a flying leap, but the Barringer Corporation is one of our biggest contributors.” She was breathless by the end of her explanation, and felt incredibly guilty and disloyal.

      When Kevin didn’t immediately respond, she said, “Listen, if it really bothers you, I’ll resign from the committee.”

      His sigh was audible. “No. It just threw me for a minute. There probably isn’t anybody who cares as much about LAM as you, Talia. Mom would be proud of you for what you’re doing. Besides, Trace is the one Barringer who wasn’t involved in my little mess with them. Val used to talk about him. She always said he…”

      Talia strained to hear the uncompleted sentence. Kevin rarely spoke of Valerie Barringer, even though he’d been wildly infatuated with her years ago.

      “Just keep your eyes open,” Kevin warned her in a voice beyond his years. “We learned the hard way not to trust the Barringers.” Then his tone lightened.

      I’ll see you in a few weeks, big sister. And I’m bringing you a tall, dark, handsome guy with a brain as a coming-home present. The guys in Barringer are too stale for you. I love you.”

      “I love you,” she whispered to the dial tone, and tried to work up some enthusiasm for Kevin’s tall, dark “coming-home present.” Unfortunately she was far more intrigued by a certain blond man with green eyes. She sighed heavily and snatched up her keys.

      Alternately cursing and encouraging herself, Talia drove to Hidden Hills Country Club. When she stepped from her battered Datsun, she bit back a laugh at the parking attendant’s expression of chagrin. She dropped the keys into the older man’s hand and gave him a saucy smile. “Be careful with it, the front fender’s a little loose.”

      When she looked up at the club’s white columns and grand entrance, a tremor of unease swept through her. The differences between Trace Barringer’s lifestyle and her own suddenly seemed acute. On her last date, she’d gone to a miniature golf course. Before that, it had been bowling. The most adventurous date she’d had in the last year involved a trip to Richmond to see a baseball game. And while she enjoyed baseball, she would have given her eyeteeth to see the opera.

      Opera and ballet. Country clubs and elegant dinners. Those were Trace’s life. Hers was ham and salami.

      Still, Talia hadn’t arrived at the age of twenty-six without a large dose of practicality. This country club would likely provide LAM with a generous donation. She battled down the notion that she was a fish out of water and marched up the steps.

      Nodding briefly to the doorman, she muttered under her breath, “This one’s for you, Mom.”

      She was crossing the red-carpeted foyer, heading toward the desk to ask for directions to the lounge, when she felt a hand on her arm.

      “Wait up, Italia,” a familiar voice murmured behind her.