Penny turned to stare at the clothes hanging in her closet, all of which seemed more appropriate for a PTA meeting at one of her nieces’ or nephew’s schools than for a cocktail party escorted by Erik Thompson.
Not that he would notice her, anyway, she thought, swallowing back a swell of tears.
“I don’t have anything else,” she said, sniffing as she dragged the floral dress from its hanger. “It’ll just have to do.”
Suzy vaulted from the bed. “Then let’s go shopping. We’ll buy you something sinfully expensive. Something totally outrageous that will have Erik Thompson’s eyes bugging out of his head.”
Tempted, Penny glanced at the bedside clock, and the tears pushed to her eyes. “There isn’t time. I have to meet him at the office parking lot at five.” She swept a hand across her cheeks, then carefully folded the floral dress and placed it in her suitcase. “This will just have to do.”
Suzy moved to stand beside her and slipped an arm around her shoulders. “The dress’ll do fine. And so will you,” she added, giving Penny a reassuring squeeze. Drawing away, she sighed as she scooped her purse from the foot of the bed. “I guess I’d better go so you can finish packing. Call me the minute you get back in town.”
“I will.”
“You’d better,” Suzy warned as she headed for the bedroom door. “I want to hear every intimate detail. Oh, and Penny?”
Penny turned to look at her. “What?”
“Don’t forget to take your pills.”
Erik lounged against the hood of his truck, his arms folded over his chest and his buttocks braced against the grill guard, watching as his new secretary steered her beige sedan into her assigned space in the building’s underground parking garage. The vehicle was as plain and nondescript as its owner, he thought, with a woeful shake of his head.
What was Mrs. H. thinking when she hired the woman? he wondered again. Penny Rawley was a mouse, afraid of her own shadow. The first time he lost his temper—which, he admitted, he was prone to do on occasion—she’d probably run from his office, bawling. And he didn’t have the time or patience to deal with a crybaby.
Scowling, he watched her flip up her sun visor, eject a cassette tape from the player on the dash, then carefully slip the tape into its plastic case and tuck it neatly into the console. Her movements were as methodical as a pilot’s, clicking off controls after a landing…which wasn’t a bad thing, he reflected grudgingly. Erik appreciated order. Not that he managed to ever create it on his own. But that’s what secretaries were for, right? Hadn’t Mrs. H. always taken care of all the little details of his life, allowing him the freedom and time to focus on the bigger, more important issues?
Damn straight she had, he thought, swallowing back a lump of emotion. He was going to miss the old girl. She had possessed a sixth sense for determining his mood and anticipating his needs, and had managed for the most part to ignore his temper tantrums…but was unafraid to give him a good tongue lashing when she felt he deserved one.
And now he was stuck with a damn mouse, he thought irritably as he watched his new secretary twist around inside her car to collect something from the back seat.
Her hair was still wound up in that old-maid bun he’d noticed at the office that morning, and she was dressed in the same utilitarian suit, with that damn fussy bow tied prissily beneath her chin.
A week, he thought with a sigh as he heaved himself away from his truck and headed for her car. He’d be lucky if he didn’t die of boredom after the first day.
When he reached the side of her car, he bent over, bracing his hands on his knees to place his face level with the open window. “Ready?”
Before he knew what was happening, he found himself staring at the business end of a small canister of mace. A mouse fending off a man-eating lion. The image that popped into his mind was ridiculous enough to be comical.
“Please don’t shoot,” he deadpanned. “I’ll go peacefully.”
She sagged weakly, then clamped her lips together and reached for the window’s handle, rolling the glass up between them with quick jerks of her hand. After snatching her shoulder bag from the passenger seat, she shoved open the door. “You startled me,” she accused.
He arched a brow, surprised by the unexpected display of temper. “Didn’t mean to,” he said, stepping out of her way. “Was just going to offer to help you with your luggage.”
She headed for the rear of her car, her nose in the air. “I can manage on my own, thank you.”
She stabbed the key into the lock, gave it a furious twist, then flung up the lid. Their hands brushed and their heads bumped as they both reached for the bag she’d stored inside. She leaped back, clutching her hand against her chest, as if stung.
Scowling, he pulled her bag from the trunk. “Over there,” he said, with a jerk of his head toward his truck, then slapped a palm against the trunk’s lid, slamming it down.
She drew the strap of her purse to her shoulder and turned, but stopped before she’d taken a full step, her eyes going wide.
He pressed a hand against the small of her back. “What’s the matter?” he asked, giving her a nudge to put her into motion. “Never seen a truck before?”
She sidestepped just enough to escape his touch. “Of course I’ve seen a truck,” she replied, sounding flustered. “I grew up on a ranch. I just never considered that you would drive one.”
He tossed her bag into the back, then opened the passenger door and shot her a wink as he held it open. “No true cowboy would be caught dead driving anything else.”
When she continued to hesitate, nervously eyeing the gaping distance between the ground and the running board created by the six-inch lift he’d added to the truck’s original design, he realized the cause of her concern. Short of hiking her skirt up around her waist, there was no way she was going to negotiate the climb.
Though he thought that scenario might be worth observing, he resolved her problem by wrapping an arm around her waist and swinging her up. She squealed as he swept her from the ground, then clung to him as he planted her conservative little pumps on the floorboard and her fanny on the passenger seat.
Dusting off his hands, he took a step back. “Comfortable?” he asked, trying hard not to smile.
She stared at him, her green eyes wide and unblinking, her face pale but for two bright spots of color high on her cheeks. A wisp of carrot-red hair had escaped her bun and now brushed her temple. A sense of déjà vu swept over him. Had he seen those eyes before, that face? Had he enacted this scene before?
A frown puckered his brow as he narrowed an eye at her. “Have we—”
She tore her gaze from his and turned to face the front. “Quite comfortable,” she replied, cutting him off. “Thank you.”
Erik frowned a moment longer, then lifted his shoulder and headed for the driver’s side of his truck.
Penny stole a peek at Erik, who sat slumped in the seat next to hers, his head tipped back, his
