Conlan glanced at his watch. The time hadn’t changed since he’d looked before. He could tell it was going to be one of those nights. He had the distinct feeling it would drag by, one interminable minute after another.
He still hadn’t figured how he’d gotten himself into this mess. He was minding his own business and the next thing he knew … He didn’t want to think about it, because whenever he did his blood pressure rose.
Nancy was going to pay for this.
He was early, not because he was so eager for tonight. No, he was only eager to get it over with.
He tried not to check the time and failed. A minute had passed. Or was it a lifetime?
His necktie felt as if it would strangle him. A tie. He couldn’t believe he’d let Nancy talk him into wearing a stupid tie.
Because he needed something to occupy his time, he took the snapshot out of his shirt pocket.
Meg Remington.
She had a nice face, he decided. Nothing spectacular. She certainly wasn’t drop-dead gorgeous, but she wasn’t plain, either. Her eyes were her best feature. Clear. Bright. Expressive. She had a cute mouth, too. Very kissable. Sensuous.
What was he supposed to say to the woman? The hell if he knew. He’d read her letters and e-mails a dozen times. She sounded—he hated to say it—immature, as if she felt the need to impress him. She seemed to think that because she ran an eight-minute mile it qualified her for the Olympics. Frankly, he wondered what their dinner would be like, with her being so food conscious and all. She’d actually bragged about how few fat grams and carbs she consumed. Clearly she wasn’t familiar with the menu at Chez Michelle. He couldn’t see a single low-fat or low-carb entrée.
That was another thing. The woman had expensive tastes. Dinner at Chez Michelle would set him back three hundred bucks—if he was lucky. So far he’d been anything but …
Involuntarily his gaze fell to his watch again, and he groaned inwardly. His sister owed him for this.
Big time.
“I refuse to meet a strange man for dinner,” Meg insisted coldly. There were some things even a mother wouldn’t do.
“But you have to,” Brenda pleaded. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Remington, I feel really bad springing this on you, but Steve didn’t do anything wrong. You’ve just got to show up. You have to … otherwise he might lose faith in all women.”
“So?”
“But he’s your date,” Lindsey said. “It would’ve worked out great if …” she paused and scowled at her best friend “… if one of us hadn’t gotten the days mixed up.”
“Exactly when did you plan on telling me you’ve been communicating with a strange man, using my name?”
“Soon,” Lindsey said with conviction. “We had to … He started asking about meeting you almost right away. We did everything we could to hold him off. Oh, by the way, if he asks about your appendix, you’ve made a full recovery.”
Meg groaned. The time frame of their deception wasn’t what interested her. She was stalling, looking for a way out of this. She could leave a message for Steve at the restaurant, explaining that she couldn’t make it, but that seemed like such a cowardly thing to do.
Unfortunately no escape plan presented itself. Brenda was right; it wasn’t Steve’s fault that he’d been duped by a pair of teenagers. It wasn’t her fault, either, but then Lindsey was her daughter.
“He’s very nice-looking,” Brenda said. She reached behind her and pulled out a picture from one of the envelopes scattered across Lindsey’s bed. “Here, see what I mean?” Meg swore she heard the girl sigh. “He’s got blue eyes and check out his smile.”
Meg took the photo from Brenda and studied it. Her daughter’s friend was right. Steve Conlan was pleasant-looking. His hair was a little long, but that didn’t bother her. He wore a cowboy hat and boots and had his thumbs tucked into his hip pockets as he stared into the camera.
“He’s tall, dark and lonesome,” Lindsey said wistfully.
“Has he ever been married?” Meg asked, curiosity getting the better of her.
“Nope.” This time it was Brenda who supplied the information. “He’s got his own business, same as you, Mrs. Remington. He owns a body shop and he’s been sinking every penny into it.”
“What made him place the ad?” she asked the girls. A sudden thought came to her. “He is the one who advertised, isn’t he?”
Both girls looked away and Meg’s heart froze. “You mean to say you two advertised for a husband for me?” She spoke slowly, each word distinct.
“We got lots of letters, too,” Brenda said proudly. “We went through them all and chose Steve Conlan.”
“Don’t you want to know why?” Lindsey prodded.
Meg gestured weakly, still too shocked to react.
“Steve says he decided to answer your ad because one day he woke up and realized life was passing him by. All his friends were married, and he felt like something important was missing in his life. Then he knew it wasn’t something but someone.”
“What about female friends?” Meg asked, thinking he didn’t look like a man who’d have to find companionship in the classifieds.
“He said in his letter that …” Lindsey paused and rustled through a sheaf of papers, searching for the right envelope. “Here it is,” she muttered. “He doesn’t have much opportunity to meet single women unless they’ve been in an accident, and generally they’re not in the mood for romance when they’re dealing with a body shop and an insurance company.” Lindsey grinned. “He’s kind of witty. I like that about him.”
“He said a lot of women his age have already been married and divorced and had a passel of kids.”
This didn’t sound too promising to Meg. “You did happen to mention that I’m divorced, too, didn’t you?”
“Of course,” Lindsey insisted. “We’d never lie.”
Meg bit her tongue to keep from saying the obvious.
“Just think,” Brenda said, “out of all the women who advertised, Steve chose you and we chose him. It’s destiny.”
The girls thought she’d feel complimented, but Meg was suspicious. “Surely there was someone younger and prettier, without children, who interested him.”
The two girls exchanged a smile. “He liked the fact that you count carbs and fat grams,” Brenda said proudly.
So much for their unwillingness to stretch the truth. “You actually told him that?” She closed her eyes and groaned. “What else did you say?”
“Just that you’re really wonderful.”
“Heroic,” Brenda added. “And you are.”
Oh,
