One Bride Too Many: One Bride Too Many / One Groom To Go. Jennifer Drew

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СКАЧАТЬ Cole forgot about calling him Marsh.

      “I’m glad you’re taking an interest in the business, Cole.”

      Marsh Bailey radiated intimidation from his razor-sharp features and cold blue eyes to the immaculate press of his silvery gray Italian suit. He was the only person Cole knew who’d never owned a pair of jeans. The man didn’t even loosen his tie on the rare occasions when he watched a public affairs program on TV. Cole instinctively put his arm around Tess’s shoulders, surprised at how square and rigid they felt.

      “This isn’t a very nice way to treat one of your best customers, Mr. Bailey. The Baby Mart, which I own and operate, sold thirty-two of your inflatable play tents for Christmas last year.”

      “Thirty-two. I’m impressed. That’s more than the Toy Warehouse in any of their north side stores. But that doesn’t explain why you and my grandson set off the security system. If I hadn’t been checking the surveillance screen for reception problems, you’d be looking down the barrels of some high-power firearms.”

      “The timing to enter the code the second time is off.” His grandfather always made Cole feel belligerent.

      “I can vouch for that,” Tess said. “I saw Cole set his watch.”

      “Then it seems I owe you an apology, Miss…”

      “Tess Morgan.”

      Marsh never apologized. He believed the rich didn’t have to be sorry for anything. Cole had braced himself for a verbal flogging, and the old man was making nice with Tess.

      “Now that you’ve seen the new line, Miss Morgan, what do you think of it?”

      “The lime-green high chair won’t sell. The design is wonderful, but the color will clash with almost everyone’s kitchen. The portable potty is a stroke of genius, though.”

      Marsh ran his finger over the pencil-thin mustache he’d worn for as long as Cole could remember. His iron-gray hair was clipped to within a quarter inch of his skull. It was more than coincidence that both Cole and Zack wore their thick hair semilong and their faces clean-shaven when beards would have been more convenient.

      “The potty is one of my designs.” The old man actually puffed up. “The high chair also comes in sandy white for the American market.”

      Cole took Tess’s hand. He’d had more than enough baby business for one night.

      “About the yellow wire,” she said as he pulled her to the corridor.

      “Activates the sprinkler system.” Marsh followed them through the doorway. “This has been a very satisfactory test of my new system.”

      TESS SPENT the rest of the week thinking about the new Bailey line—the one Cole had handed her, not the baby stuff.

      Why ask her to become involved in his love life? Either he’d had too much champagne at the reception or a Bailey built brick wall had bounced on his head. She wished he’d remained nothing but a glossy memory in the yearbook.

      Or did she?

      Certainly he made life more interesting. She’d been trapped by a mad inventor—well, a quirky one, anyway—and suspected of industrial espionage. Even better, she’d told Marsh Bailey what was right and wrong with his new products. Would that she could do the same for Kozy Kountry cows!

      As she lolled in her oversize yellow sleep shirt, munched microwave popcorn and watched Bride of Frankenstein, Cole was wining and dining Jillian Davis, of all people. If Tess had ever had any aspiration to be a matchmaker, this would have killed it. Jillian wasn’t even on her Z list of possible dates for Cole, although, with brilliant hindsight, she had to admit her fellow kickboxer was probably his type. He thought so, anyway.

      Darn, why had Marsh tried to turn the lab into the house from Dr. Zhivago? She’d been blissfully ignorant of how it felt to have Cole’s strong arms wrapped around her for real, not as a tactic to beat her at pool. She was going to remember the moment long after portable potties were forgotten in the mental haze of advanced old age.

      The door buzzer aroused her from speculation about whether Cole had curly black hair on his tummy. Not that it mattered to her. Someday she’d find a man who was right for her, one who’d make analytical comments about Bride of Frankenstein while he nuzzled her throat and did other nice things.

      She checked her spy hole, as she liked to call it. Cole’s face was distorted like the image in a fun-house mirror, but there was still no mistaking how cute he was. Darn again! She didn’t want him to see her in a nightshirt, and she especially didn’t want to hear about his wonderful date.

      Opening the door as far as she could without taking off the chain, she peeked out at him.

      “Hi. Can I come in?”

      “I’m not exactly dressed.”

      “You look decent to me. I really need to talk to you.”

      “Your grandfather’s not going to have us arrested for trespassing, is he?”

      She took off the chain and let him step into her snug little living room.

      “Nice place.”

      He looked at the gray and pink striped satin couch—impractical, maybe, but she loved it—and the two deep rose velvet armchairs. The rest of her furniture was salvage from relatives or thrift-shop bargains, but she liked the touch of class her good furniture gave the light beige carpeting and white walls of the bland apartment.

      “Are we in trouble for sneaking into the lab?”

      “We didn’t sneak.”

      “Of course not, but I’ll pass up any more tours of Bailey Baby Products, not to sound ungrateful.”

      She didn’t want to hear about his date, but eventually she’d run out of inane chatter.

      “Next time you set me up,” he said, plopping down on the couch, “I’d prefer it’s with someone you know better.”

      He dipped into the metal mixing bowl of popcorn without invitation.

      “Help yourself.”

      “Oh, do you mind?”

      She didn’t mind sharing her popcorn. She strenuously objected to arranging dates for him.

      “You may remember, I didn’t set you up with Jillian. You engineered that.”

      “Yeah, you’re right.”

      “So, didn’t you have fun?”

      She couldn’t pretend to be sorry. There was something about Jillian that was too perfect.

      “I don’t want to talk about it. What are you watching?”

      “Bride of Frankenstein.”

      “That about sums up my evening.”

      “That bad?” СКАЧАТЬ