The Perfect Wife. Judy Duarte

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      Carly hadn’t meant that in a bad way. She loved her mom and missed her, but the weight the middle-aged woman had been carrying for the past twenty-five years wasn’t healthy and could lead to heart disease or a stroke. It had also kept her housebound.

      Years ago, Carly, her sister and their mom had been close, clinging to each other through difficult times. But they’d all developed eating disorders, although Carly had overcome hers.

      Oh yeah? that pesky, small voice asked. What about that smooshed éclair resting in the paper bag under the cushion of the recliner?

      Okay. So maybe she might not have kicked hers completely. But with Greg gone, she’d rebelled from her rigid daily workouts and those brutal carb and fat restrictions. And to be honest, she was enjoying the temporary break. Maybe a bit too much.

      But she’d get back on track.

      As Carly climbed the circular stairway to her bedroom, she made a mental note to call her mother again this evening. It had been a week, and Carly wanted to check on her, maybe find out if the new diet program, a special study her doctor had encouraged her to take part in, was still working.

      Her mother’s obesity was slowly killing her, the doctor had told her during her last visit. Her knees were giving out on her, her cholesterol and triglycerides were dangerously high.

      But that was something only her mom could do something about.

      Carly had, of course, gone to great lengths not to let history repeat itself. And she wasn’t about to let her eating habits get out of control.

      But she wouldn’t put on a swimsuit without a cover-up, either. Not with the tummy pooch she’d developed over the past month. It had been a long time since she’d been anything but toned and lean. And the thought of having anyone see her imperfections was enough to make her sick.

      Not in a binge and purge sort of way. That had been her sister’s routine.

      But Carly’s divorce had blindsided her, hitting her hard, pulling the proverbial rug out from under her. Greg and their marriage had been her whole life, but it was time to right her world and restore her battered self-esteem.

      Besides, who would see her at the community pool?

      Bo Conway glanced up from his work on the bathhouse at the pool as three women strolled through the wrought-iron gate and chose a couple of lounge chairs just a few feet away from where he’d set up his tools. He nearly shrugged them off, along with the other sunbathers and swimmers, until he recognized a sweet, sexy Texas drawl and recognized the stunning blonde with blue eyes and a dynamite smile.

      Carly Banning—or rather, Alderson now—was a beautiful woman who worked hard at her appearance.

      Too hard, if you asked him.

      She even had a state-of-the-art gym built in the basement of the McMansion, which had cost her ex-husband, Greg Banning, a pretty penny. But unlike a lot of wealthy housewives with too much time and money on her hands, she actually used her gym.

      Bo had done a lot of work at the Bannings’ place, a major renovation that had been the talk of the town, so he had some insight regarding the recently divorced couple that their neighbors didn’t have.

      In fact, Bo was one of the few people who hadn’t been surprised to hear of the breakup. Not that he’d heard them fight. But he’d felt the tension between them and sensed the loneliness that permeated the walls of the McMansion, even when Greg and Carly had been in the same room.

      Still, that didn’t mean he didn’t like them both. Or that he wasn’t sorry to hear of the divorce. Marital commitments were meant to last. And that was something Bo had strong feelings about—enough that he often observed couples, watched the way they treated each other, the way they showed affection. It had been something his uncle Roy had told him during one of their many discussions about life, love and the pursuit of happiness.

      “A guy can learn a lot by just opening up his eyes and ears,” Roy had said.

      So Bo made a habit of people watching, couple watching. And he’d decided Roy had been right.

      A few months ago, while working at the McMansion, a house that was entirely too big and gaudy as far as Bo was concerned, he’d come upon a teary-eyed Carly—or Mrs. B., as he’d called her then—sitting in an easy chair with a glass of milk and a bag of Oreo cookies.

      “My drug of choice,” she’d said.

      For a woman who was damn near perfect and who worked out like crazy, it seemed counterproductive to be wolfing down a jillion calories.

      He’d also been taken aback by the vulnerability in her gaze, by the waif who seemed to peer out at him from eyes glistening with raw emotion.

      Originally, Bo had pegged Carly as being self-centered. But she’d always treated him kindly and never patronized him as some of his clients did. And soon his heart had gone out to her—as it was doing again today.

      A couple of times, out of the corner of his eye, he caught her glancing his way, yet not in the form of a come-on. They’d kind of…well, he didn’t know exactly. Connected, he supposed.

      Her husband had a business to run, so she’d spent a lot of time overseeing both the construction and the remodel of the McMansion. But not in a bothersome way. She’d been truly interested, involved. And she’d also listened to reason when he had to tell her one or another of her ideas wouldn’t work.

      There was something else that had tugged at his heart, played on his sympathy.

      When she was deep in thought or stressed, she had a habit of gnawing on her bottom lip in a way that made her porcelain outside peel away, revealing a flesh-and-blood woman inside.

      Still, he’d minded his own business, knowing better than to stick his nose where it didn’t belong.

      Besides, he had a dream to chase, a future to secure.

      Yet at this particular moment he couldn’t help eavesdropping on the women’s conversation, words not meant for his ears.

      “I think it’s time we go out to dinner and open a bottle of champagne,” the attractive brunette told Carly. “We need to celebrate your freedom and christen your new life.”

      His former client didn’t look too happy with that suggestion.

      “All you need to do is find another man,” the other woman added. “You’ll be back on track before you know it.”

      “That’s a lot easier said than done.” Carly, who wore a large blue T-shirt that masked a shapely body, covered a lounge chair with a bright yellow-and-red-striped beach towel. “I’ve been married so long that I wouldn’t even know what to do on a date.”

      “It’s like riding a bike,” the brunette said, taking a sip of her bottled water. “It’ll all come back to you. And you’ll realize there’s a lot to be said about being single.”

      “I still feel married,” Carly said. “And I poured so much of myself into my marriage that I’m not even sure who I am anymore.”

      Too bad, Bo thought, as he continued to work СКАЧАТЬ