these days. George dug deep in his memory, trying to remember the color of Amelia’s hair. Of course. How could he forget? It was a flaming ginger red.
He glanced at the redhead. She stood several yards away with two large suitcases at her feet and a lost expression on her face. A very attractive face, George noticed. He couldn’t tell the color of her eyes from there but somehow he got the idea they were green. Green eyes went with red hair. Amelia’s eyes were green.
Surprised that he’d remembered that, he stared at the redhead. No, it couldn’t be. Not in a million years. Amelia was country—pigtails and freckles. This woman looked far too citified and classy to have come from Willow Falls, Idaho.
The woman turned her head just then and her gaze locked with his. He saw uncertainty hover in her face, while a questioning smile played around her generous mouth. Now he knew why her laugh had stirred a chord. Still unable to believe what he was seeing, he watched her lift a hand to wave at him.
Amelia Richard had arrived.
He headed in her direction, wishing he’d worn a crisp dress shirt instead of the dark-blue polo shirt he’d snatched from the closet that morning. As he approached, she called out in a voice that was at least an octave lower than he remembered, “Georgie? It is you, isn’t it?”
At the sound of that hateful name he cringed inside. There was no doubt now. Amelia the brat. He did his best to look amiable. At least he managed to get her name right. “Amelia. How are you? How was the trip?”
She smiled happily at him. He hadn’t realized she had dimples. Fascinating. The freckles seemed to have all but disappeared from her cute nose. Right then she didn’t look at all like the kid who’d taunted him all those years ago. She looked…mature, sophisticated, with a definite touch of spice gleaming in her lovely green eyes.
Just the kind of woman he would have stared at across a crowded room, a woman with whom he’d share a glass of wine in front of a roaring fire, dance with to slow, sensual music. Maybe drift toward the bedroom…
Shocked to realize where his thoughts were taking him, he abruptly dropped the hand he’d extended before she could grasp it.
Then she spoke, shattering the vision. “Super to see you again, Georgie! You look great! Thanks a heap for coming to meet me. Just call me Amy. Everyone does.”
He gritted his teeth. That name again. The cultured look had fooled him. She was still the brat from Willow Falls. “I’ll remember to call you Amy,” he said grimly, “if you promise never to call me Georgie again.”
The look in her eyes turned wary. “Oh…wow…okay then. Sorry. Force of habit, I guess. I always think of you as Georgie, but I’ll try to remember.” She gestured at the bulging bags at her feet. “This is all I’ve got for now. The rest is coming along later. Aunt Betty said the apartment was furnished, right?”
Still taken aback at the discovery that she’d thought about him all these years, he shook his head in confusion. “Aunt Betty?”
She nudged his arm with her elbow. “Your mother, silly. Who else would I mean?”
“You call her Aunt Betty?” He wondered how his mother felt about that. Somehow he couldn’t see her as anyone’s Aunt Betty.
She nodded cheerfully. “Always have. Mom talks about you both quite a lot.”
“Really?” He couldn’t help wondering just what fascinating tidbits about him his mother had passed on to Jessica Richard and her exuberant daughter.
“Really.” Amelia beamed at him.
Dazzled in spite of himself, he seized a suitcase in each hand and almost groaned when he felt the weight of them. Someone must have helped her with her bags. She couldn’t possibly have lifted them herself.
He felt somewhat vindicated when she said hurriedly, “Hope they’re not too heavy for you. I had to cram as much as I could into them. Heaven knows when the rest will get here. The poor driver took two tries to wrestle them out of the luggage compartment.”
Determined to impress her, he swung the cases off the ground, and almost swung himself off his feet. “Car’s outside,” he panted, then staggered out into the burning sun.
Amy had to admit as she followed him that Georgie was stronger than he looked. Tight buns, too. He must take very good care of his body. Who would have thought that the wiry, nervous, irritable teenager she’d adored as a child would have grown into such a striking specimen of manhood? She’d hardly recognized him at first. He seemed so much taller now. He’d always been nice-looking, but now that he’d grown up and filled out, he was so much more virile than she remembered.
He still had the same dark hair, though it was cut shorter, and there were faint crinkles at the corners of his dark-brown eyes. The no-nonsense chin had hardened into a rugged jaw, and his voice held a resonance that had echoed somewhere deep inside her when he’d spoken her name. Altogether, Georgie would have been a knockout in Willow Falls. The women would have been following him everywhere.
According to Aunt Betty, not too many women followed Georgie around Portland. Obviously he still had trouble in that department. Too bad his reserved nature hadn’t expanded along with his muscles.
“Is this your car?” she exclaimed, as he unlocked the trunk of a sleek blue Lexus. “Wow, I’m impressed.”
“Thank you.”
He opened the door for her and she slid onto the soft, smooth seat. The inside smelled faintly masculine—a mixture of leather and spicy cologne.
“Nice car,” she commented, hoping to get some reaction out of him. “Must have cost a bomb.”
“It did.” George patted the steering wheel with a proprietary air. “It was worth every penny.”
Well, it was obvious where his priorities lay. “Super!” she said, and sat back to enjoy the ride.
George sat by her side, his back as straight and stiff as a telephone pole as he maneuvered the car through the intricate maze of downtown streets. Amy kept up a stream of chatter, hoping to break through his faintly disapproving air.
She watched, fascinated, as they passed by tall high-rises, neat city parks, fancy hotels, quaint sidewalk cafés and interesting-looking stores. She just couldn’t wait to explore her new home, and bombarded George with questions about the city.
After a long period of receiving little more than noncommittal grunts in response to her comments, she glanced sideways at her host. He seemed upset by something. “I hope I’m not stopping you from doing something important,” she said tentatively. “I’m sure you’d rather be with your girlfriend.”
He sent her a startled glance. “What? Oh, no. I don’t have a girlfriend.”
She already knew that. George’s lack of women friends seemed to be Aunt Betty’s greatest disappointment in life. Still, she’d succeeded in getting his attention. “Why don’t you?”
His jaw clenched slightly. “Why don’t I what?”
“Have a girlfriend.”
She waited quite a while for his answer.
“Not
