phone in her bedroom. Damp footprints marked her path across the plush tan rug. She grabbed the receiver as she fumbled to wrap a towel around her wet form.
“Miss Wells?” the familiar gravelly voice inquired.
“Yes. This is Mrs. Fletcher, isn’t it?” Maggie asked. She experienced the little sinking feeling that always came to her when she knew someone was going to give her bad news.
“I’ve spoken with Mr. Conner,” Mrs. Fletcher said. “He says Brandy wants you. He’d like to go ahead and sign you up with her. Do you accept?”
Maggie gasped. Had that horrible conversation with Ryan Conner really taken place last week, or was that just a nightmare? What could have changed his mind? For a few seconds she considered whether she should say no. Or tell Mrs. Fletcher she’d have to think about it. After all, how could she work with this man’s child? What if he kept acting the same way toward her?
Oh, who cares about him? she decided in a flash. Brandy is the one who matters.
“Yes,” she agreed quickly before she could change her mind.
“Fine,” Mrs. Fletcher said. “Now, it’s going to be up to you to set up the days and times to see Brandy. Remember to clear all your plans with her father first. Let me give you his phone number and address. Be sure to tell me when your first outing is scheduled so I can check back with you to see how things are going.”
Maggie grabbed a pad and pen from her night table and shakily wrote down Ryan’s phone number and address. After saying goodbye to Mrs. Fletcher, she set the phone down and sank onto the bed, heedless of the spreading wet splotch she made as she soaked into the downy white comforter. She stared at the ceiling.
Should she call him now?
She sat up. Yes, she answered herself, she should do it now, before she lost her nerve. She stared numbly at the piece of notepaper that held Ryan Conner’s phone number. She picked it up, then set it back down as if the paper had burned her fingers.
She stared at the notepaper again. She could see Ryan Conner’s clear, cold stare in her memory. Then she remembered Brandy’s earnest blue eyes, gazing hopefully at her.
Maggie picked up her pen and quickly punched in Ryan’s phone number.
“Hello.”
Maggie swallowed tightly.
“Mr. Conner—I mean, Ryan, this is Maggie Wells.”
Good start, she chided herself.
“Yes?”
Maggie fingered the edge of her thick, damp towel.
“I’m calling about seeing Brandy next weekend, if that’s all right,” she said. “Mrs. Fletcher called me today.”
“What time do you want to see her?” Ryan asked. His voice was businesslike and polite, without the animosity he had formerly shown, yet still lacking warmth.
“Well, there’s a miniatures exhibit at the civic center this Saturday. I thought Brandy might like to see it,” Maggie suggested, gaining confidence. “It starts at ten o’clock.”
“Fine.”
“Can I talk to—” Maggie began, but stopped short as she realized he had already hung up. She shook her head in frustration.
She put down the receiver and lay back on her soft bed, staring up at the ceiling. She hoped she hadn’t just made a terrible mistake.
Maggie pressed slowly on the brake, easing her car to a smooth halt in front of Ryan Conner’s house. The long, one-story gray brick house sat back from the road, partially hidden from the street by a stand of pine trees. The house occupied a large lot in a rural area just outside Charleston. From the large bare patch at the side of the house, Maggie could see Ryan was a gardener. This surprised her, and then she wondered why it should.
After all, she didn’t really know anything about him. And based on his previous behavior, she had no reason to think that was going to change, she reminded herself.
He’ll probably just push Brandy out the door without a word, she thought dryly.
Maggie took a deep breath and stepped out, slamming the door of her shiny silver sports car behind her. Her low heels clicked loudly in the quiet country air as she followed the flagged walkway to the front door. Grabbing the brass knocker, she banged loudly.
The door opened so quickly, she knew someone must have been watching her approach. The knocker fairly flew from Maggie’s hand as Brandy yanked the door wide, a broad smile lighting her small face.
“Hi, Maggie!” she cried. “I’m almost ready. I just need my jacket.”
Brandy tore off into the inner reaches of the house, leaving Maggie standing on the doorstep. Ryan Conner stepped forward toward the door.
“Maggie,” he said, sounding oddly uncomfortable with her name. “Come in. Please.”
Maggie forced a smile to her lips.
He’s being polite, she thought. Be polite back.
“Thank you,” she said carefully, and followed his outstretched arm. She was surprised to find how large the house looked once she was inside. The living room was light and spacious with wide windows giving view to a wooded backyard that seemed greatly devoted to Brandy’s play. An elaborate swing set dominated a wide-open space between some pines, while a rudimentary tree house sat low in an oak.
“This is a lovely home,” Maggie commented.
Ryan didn’t ask her to sit down, so she stood and looked about with interest, determined not to let him bother her. She would be out of there in just a few minutes, she reminded herself, with the whole day to spend with Brandy alone.
She tried to concentrate on the view, but her eyes were drawn back to the man standing quietly at her side.
How tall he was. Maggie’s slim height came close to that of many men, an asset in the business world, she’d always thought. But as she stood in the living room beside Ryan, she realized he was at least four inches taller than she was.
Ryan started to gesture Maggie to the couch, then stopped himself. He hesitated to take that extra step toward friendliness, afraid in his heart of where it might lead.
Maggie was supposed to be Brandy’s friend, not his. And while easing the tension between them might seem to pave the way to a smoother relationship for Brandy and Maggie, Ryan knew that it could set a dangerous precedent.
As much as he feared Maggie might turn out to be like Delia, she appealed to him on an even deeper, more sensual, level. Maintaining the tension preserved the distance.
Ryan turned his back on Maggie and stared out the window at the dry winter day. Hands stuffed in his jeans pockets, he willed his daughter to hurry back with her jacket.
Brandy arrived suddenly in the living room, breathless from a run down the hallway, pulling on her jacket as she came. Ryan swiveled back
