The Perfect Wife. Judy Duarte

He was rugged in an artsy sort of way. Solid, dependable, down-to-earth.

      When he’d worked at the McMansion, Carly had often studied him from a distance, although she didn’t think he knew she found him…interesting. Appealing.

      More than once she’d wondered if he was seeing anyone or if he’d like to meet a nice, single woman. If so, she would have been happy to set something up. Yet whenever she tried to think of someone suitable, the woman fell short.

      Molly, who had yet to take off the sundress that hid her bathing suit, reached into what looked like a briefcase and carried a couple of files and her reading glasses to the hot tub.

      “You brought work with you to the pool?” Carly asked.

      “Just some material I need to look over.” Molly took a seat beside Carly on the edge of the tub and dangled her feet into the hot, bubbly water. “Your friend the carpenter is good-looking. Is he single?”

      “I assume so. He doesn’t wear a ring.”

      “A lot of construction workers don’t for safety reasons.” Rebecca lowered herself into the tub, grimacing slightly at the temperature. “Either way, he’s sure been watching you, Carly.”

      “Me? Don’t be ridiculous.”

      Bo had always treated her with the utmost respect and been very professional. There’d never been anything even the slightest bit flirty going on between them. Not even after Greg moved out and it was apparent Carly was single. And vulnerable.

      But the thought that he might be looking at her caused her heart to flutter in an adolescent way.

      She glanced his way, caught his gaze, then quickly turned her head.

      Had he been watching her?

      Nah. Couldn’t be.

      Yet even though there was no reason in the world why she should be so uncomfortable about making eye contact, why her heart would kick up a notch…

      Oh, for Pete’s sake. She tugged at the hem of her extra-large T-shirt, which hid a multitude of sins…or rather, doughnut binges. If anything, Bo probably wondered why in the heck she’d come out in public looking like this.

      “You know what?” Molly asked. “I think he’s interested in you. He keeps glancing your way with this…I don’t know, kind of a sweet, puppy-dog look in his eyes.”

      “Bo?” Carly didn’t have to feign her surprise.

      “That’s the one.”

      Carly shrugged off the comment. After all, Bo, a self-employed artisan, was so completely down-to-earth he didn’t seem interested in the drama of suburbia. And Carly had fought long and hard to be queen of Danbury Way.

      Yeah, right. Queen of an enormous mansion in New York State where her only companion was an echo of the haunting voice of a father who still pointed out her deficiencies within the cold silence.

      Rebecca nodded her head toward the bathhouse. “Why don’t you make the first move. Before he leaves.”

      “Oh, cut it out.” Carly rolled her eyes. “I’d never do that.”

      “Why not?”

      For a lot of reasons. She wasn’t that bold, for one. But she offered the one that seemed the most logical. “Because I still feel married, remember?”

      Before either of her friends could counter with an argument, the wrought-iron gate swung open and several children dashed inside, followed by three smiling adults.

      Carly’s heart pounded in her chest as she recognized Megan’s sister, Angela, and her kids.

      That in itself would have been enough to cause Carly to make excuses and skedaddle.

      But when Greg walked through the gate, with Megan on his arm—the woman he’d chosen as her replacement—all Carly wanted to do was slip into the hot tub and drown a lobster’s death.

      The paunch in her belly seemed to swell and fold into Jabba the Hutt proportions. And all she could think of was getting the heck out of here. Quick.

      Okay, so Greg and Megan, whose smiles had completely evaporated into the summer breeze the moment they’d spotted her, were probably uncomfortable, too. But they had each other to commiserate with. Carly was alone. And not up for any of this.

      “Oh, my God, Carly. I’m really sorry about that. I never expected them to come here today.”

      Whether it was Rebecca or Molly commenting, Carly wasn’t sure. All she knew was that she had to escape before she fell apart.

      And she had to do it now.

      She quickly looked at her right arm, where her wristwatch was supposed to be. “Gosh. I can’t believe how late it is. I’ve got to go.”

      “I’ll take you home,” Molly said.

      “Don’t bother. Enjoy the sun.” Carly forced a hollow smile. “I’d really prefer to walk. I need the exercise.”

      Fortunately, Greg and Megan had made their way through the gate and found a place to sit near the shallow end of the pool. So Carly quickly climbed from her seat at the edge of the hot tub, strode toward the lounge chair, slipped on her sandals, grabbed her things and shoved them into the canvas tote bag she’d brought. Then she marched out the wrought-iron gate and headed for the parking lot.

      It was going to be a long and miserable walk home, but she didn’t care. There was no way she’d stick around here a moment longer.

      Heck, she could call a cab along the way.

      But as she strode through the parking lot, just past a white Chevrolet sedan, she ran head-on into a wall of hunky flesh.

      Oomph.

      She gasped for air, only to catch a musky whiff of an earthy cologne.

      Her eyes opened, and her gaze locked on Bo’s.

      “Are you okay?” he asked.

      Her lips parted, but words deserted her, and she bit down on her bottom lip. As a single tear slipped down her cheek, Bo brushed it away with a work-roughened knuckle.

      Then he slipped an arm around her and guided her toward his truck. “Come on. I’ll give you a ride home.”

      Carly wasn’t able to find the words to object—even if she’d wanted to. And as he led her to his truck, she felt a tad more bold and a bit less married.

      Chapter Two

      Bo opened the passenger seat of his dual-wheeled Chevy pickup and watched the blonde of goddess proportions place her canvas bag on the seat, then scoot inside the cab.

      An oversize, blue T-shirt, the comfortable, broken-in type most guys liked for puttering around the house or garage, covered her swimsuit, yet couldn’t hide a pair of long, shapely legs.

      But her flip-flops…?

      Nothing comfy or laid-back about them.

      The white sandals added about two inches to her five-and-half-foot height. And the faux diamonds on the V-shaped strap drew his attention to pretty feet, with toenails painted cherry-red.

      All in all, Carly Alderson was one head-turning package. But Bo knew better than to gawk and stare. She might think he had ulterior motives about driving her home. And that couldn’t be further from the truth. No matter how empathetic he felt, he didn’t get involved with classy, high-maintenance women like her.

      “A wise man can’t afford to,” Uncle Roy had always said, before adding, “and I ain’t just talkin’ about money, son.”

      Bo climbed into the driver’s seat, then started up the engine.

      Under normal circumstances, he would have avoided getting even remotely involved with Carly, but in spite of his reluctance,