to her warm cheeks.
That man was dangerous. He radiated sensuality by merely entering a room with that loose-hipped walk of his. Add to that his height and build and chiseled features…gracious, he must have to beat off women with a stick.
Well, she was on guard now against the potent Mr. Chandler. He wouldn’t fluster her again. She wouldn’t allow that to happen. She’d just be more alert than she usually was against men.
The focus had to be Joey.
Poor, sad, devastated little Joey, who really, really needed to cry.
Chapter Two
As Cedar entered her house, she realized she had thought about Mark Chandler and Joey during the entire drive home. That was understandable, she decided, because Mark had been the last client she’d seen that day.
She’d read the form Mark had filled out and learned there were no other relatives on either side of Joey’s family. It was just the two of them, uncle and nephew, and that combination was definitely not going well at the moment.
Cedar closed the door behind her and told herself to leave her two new clients, Mark and Joey, on the porch that swept across the front of the house.
Over a year before she had purchased the old, two-story Victorian house. It had the charm and grace of a past era and she’d been captivated, imagining the marvelous stories the stately structure would tell if its walls could whisper.
In the year since signing the mortgage papers the charm of her home had greatly diminished. Although it had passed the initial inspection and was declared to be in excellent condition, she had spent the past fourteen months tending to one repair after another.
She was seriously considering selling the savings-draining house and buying something newer. However, since her reputation as a child psychologist was growing in Phoenix and more and more clients came under her care, there didn’t seem to be a spare moment in her schedule to explore the market for something else.
Plus, the thought of packing and moving again was more than she could bear. For now she would stay put, but she had mental fingers crossed that the rash of repairs was at an end for a while.
“Oreo, I’m home. Come do your I’m-so-glad-to-see-you thing.”
A large, black-and-white cat strolled into the room, then wove around her legs, meowing loudly.
Was this pathetic? Cedar thought. Was she becoming a classic spinster at thirty-two, coming home to a house that held nothing more than a fat cat to greet her?
Don’t you get lonely at times?
The words Mark Chandler had spoken suddenly echoed in Cedar’s mind and a shiver coursed through her. She reached down and picked up Oreo.
“Hello, pretty girl,” Cedar said. “We’re a good team, aren’t we? We don’t need anyone else living here with us and, no, we don’t get lonely at times.”
Oreo wiggled in Cedar’s arms, then jumped to the floor and ran toward the kitchen.
“But the question remains,” Cedar said, pointing a finger in the air, “as to whether you love me for me, Ms. Oreo, or because I’m the one who feeds you? Do I want to know the answer to that? No, I do not.” She shook her head. “Isn’t this super? Now I’m talking to myself, for Pete’s sake.”
Cedar went upstairs to change into soft, faded jeans and an equally worn Arizona State University sweatshirt. Returning to the main floor, she went into the kitchen, fed a complaining Oreo, then opened the refrigerator to see what might tempt her for dinner.
Mark could only make scrambled eggs, she thought. Why were men so quick to decide that their gender made it acceptable to be helpless in the kitchen? It was no longer politically correct to assume the attitude that cooking was woman’s work. Mark should buy a cookbook and prepare nourishing, well-balanced meals for growing Joey. Cooking, in fact, was something the pair could tackle together, use as a bonding tool. She’d have to speak to Mark about that and—
“That’s it, Mark Chandler,” Cedar said aloud, as she took lettuce and a tomato from a shelf. “Go back to the front porch where I left you. Right now.”
But Mark refused to budge.
He seemed to hover while Cedar prepared her meal of pasta with spicy sauce, a tossed salad and two slices of garlic bread.
He was at the table while Cedar consumed her dinner, then cleaned the kitchen. When she settled into her favorite easy chair that was big enough for two, he somehow managed to perch on the rounded arm of the chair.
Cedar snatched up the book on the table next to the chair, turned on the light and opened the book to where she’d left off the night before. After reading three paragraphs and realizing she hadn’t understood one word, she snapped the book closed and frowned.
What on earth was going on here? she thought. She’d had a date with a dentist a month ago and had forgotten he existed by the time he’d backed out of her driveway after bringing her home.
Why was Mark Chandler, who was a client and automatically not eligible for anything other than professional meetings, consuming her thoughts and managing to have such an intense affect on her? His presence was so palpable, she felt as though she could reach out and actually touch him right there in her living room.
Now there was an enticing image, Cedar mused. Touching Mark Chandler. She had a feeling the chest beneath that faded shirt was rock-solid, as were his arms and those long, long legs. His thick hair just called to feminine fingers to sift through it, then watch it glide back into place. His lips—
“Aakk,” Cedar yelled, as Oreo jumped into the chair and startled her back to reality. “Oh, good grief, Oreo, you scared the bejeebers out of me. But I deserve it because I had no business thinking what I was and…Oreo, give it to me straight. Am I losing it?
“Nothing like this has ever happened to me before and it’s disconcerting to say the least. I mean, really, Mark Chandler isn’t even my type, you know what I mean? I go for the suit-and-tie guys, not dust-covered construction…dudes. So why is Mark capable of consuming my brain and…”
Oreo leaped over the arm of the chair and left the room.
Cedar sighed. “That went well. This whole situation is so ridiculous, my own cat decided it wasn’t worth listening to.
“Okay, I’m on my own. This is Thursday. I see Mark again on Monday when he brings Joey for his appointment. Between now and then I’ll get it together and knock off this nonsense. Yes, I will, because I am woman…in charge, in control.”
Cedar opened the book to the proper page and began to read, extremely glad there wouldn’t be a test later on what she was supposedly comprehending.
Mark straightened the blanket over a sleeping Joey, then left the toy-strewn bedroom. He wandered down the hall to the large living room and slouched into a well-worn chair he refused to have reupholstered. Picking up the remote from the end table, he clicked on the television, only to be greeted by canned laughter. He shut it off again.
It had been another silent evening in the Chandler household, he thought dismally. No matter how hard he’d tried,
