What She Wants. Sheila Roberts

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      Chapter One

      Working in such close quarters with a woman that you could bump knees (thighs, and maybe even other body parts) was probably every man’s dream job. Except Dot Morrison’s knees were knobby and she was old enough to be Jonathan Templar’s grandmother. And she looked like Maxine of greeting card fame. So there was no knee (or anything else) bumping going on today.

      “Okay, you’re good to go,” he said, pushing back from the computer in the office at Breakfast Haus, Dot’s restaurant. “But remember what I told you. If you want your computer to run more efficiently, you’ve got to slick your hard drive once in a while.”

      “There you go talking dirty to me again,” Dot cracked.

      A sizzle sneaked onto Jonathan’s cheeks, partly because old ladies didn’t say things like that (Jonathan’s grandma sure didn’t), and partly because he’d never talked dirty to a woman in his life. Well, not unless you counted a Playboy centerfold. When talking with most real-life women, his tongue had a tendency to tie itself into more knots than a bag of pretzels, especially when a woman was good-looking. This, he told himself, was one reason he was still single at the ripe old age of thirty-three. That and the fact that he wasn’t exactly the stuff a woman’s dreams were made of. It was a rare woman who dreamed of a skinny, bespectacled guy in a button-down shirt. Those weren’t the only reasons, though. Carrying a torch for someone tended to interfere with a guy’s love life.

      Never certain how to respond to Dot’s whacked-out sense of humor, he merely smiled, shook his head and packed up his briefcase.

      “Seriously,” she said, “I’m glad this didn’t turn out to be anything really bad. But if it had, I know I could count on you. You can’t ever leave Icicle Falls. What would us old bats do when we have computer problems?”

      “You’d manage,” Jonathan assured her.

      “I doubt it. Computers are instruments of torture to anyone over the age of sixty.”

      “No worries,” he said. “I’m not planning on going anywhere.”

      “Until you meet Ms. Right. Then you’ll be gone like a shot.” The look she gave him was virtually a guarantee that something was about to come out of her mouth that would make him squirm. Sure enough. “We’ll have to find you a local girl.”

      Just what he needed—Dot Morrison putting the word out that Jonathan Templar, computer nerd, was in the market for a local girl. He didn’t want a local girl. He wanted...

      “Tilda’s still available.”

      Tilda Morrison, supercop? She could easily bench-press Jonathan. “Uh, thanks for the offer, but I think she needs someone tougher.”

      “There’s a problem. Nobody’s as tough as Tilda. Damn, I raised that girl wrong. At this rate I’m never going to get grandchildren.” Dot shrugged and reached for a cigarette. “Just as well, I suppose. I’d have to spend all my free hours baking cookies for the little rodents.”

      Sometimes it was hard to know whether or not Dot was serious, but this time Jonathan was sure she didn’t mean what she’d said. She was only trying to make the best of motherly frustration. Dot wanted grandkids. Anyone who’d seen her interacting with the families who came into the restaurant could tell that. It was a wonder she made any money with all the free hot chocolate she slipped her younger patrons.

      She lit up and took a deep drag on her cigarette. Her little office was about to get downright smoggy. Washington State law prohibited smoking in public places, but Dot maintained that her office wasn’t a public place. Jonathan suspected one of these days she and the local health inspector were going to get into it over the cigarettes she sneaked in this room.

      “I’d better get going,” he said, gathering his things and trying not to inhale the secondhand smoke pluming in his direction.

      “You gonna bill me as usual?”

      “Yep.”

      “Don’t gouge me,” she teased.

      “Wouldn’t dream of it. And put your glasses on to read your bill this time,” he teased back as he walked to the door. He always tried to give Dot a senior’s discount and she always overpaid him, claiming she’d misread the bill. Yep, Dot was a great customer.

      Heck, all his customers were great, he thought as he made his way to Sweet Dreams Chocolate Company, where Elena, the secretary, was having a nervous breakdown thanks to a new computer that she swore was possessed.

      The scent of chocolate floating up from the kitchens below greeted him as he entered the office and Elena looked at him as if he were Saint George come to slay a dragon. “Thank God you’re here.”

      People were always happy to see the owner and sole employee of Geek Gods Computer Services. Once Jonathan arrived on the scene, they knew their troubles would be fixed.

      He liked that, liked feeling useful. So he wasn’t a mountain of muscle like Luke Goodman, the production manager at Sweet Dreams, or a mover and shaker like Blake Preston, manager of Cascade Mutual. Some men were born to have starring roles and big, juicy parts on the stage of life. Others were meant to build scenery, pull the curtains, work in the background to make sure everything on stage ran well. Jonathan was a backstage kind of guy. Nothing wrong with that, he told himself. Background workers made it possible for the show to go on.

      But leading ladies never noticed the guy in the background. Jonathan heaved a sigh. Sometimes he felt like Cyrano de Bergerac. Without the nose.

      “This thing is making me loco,” Elena said, glaring at the offending piece of technology on her desk.

      The company owner, Samantha Sterling—recently married to Blake Preston—had just emerged from her office. “More loco than we make you?”

      “More loco than even my mother makes me,” Elena replied.

      Samantha gave her shoulder a pat. “Jonathan will fix it.”

      Elena grunted. “Equipo del infierno.”

      “Computer from hell?” Jonathan guessed, remembering some of his high school Spanish.

      Elena’s frustrated scowl was all the answer he needed.

      “Don’t worry,” Samantha told her. “Jonathan will help you battle the forces of technology evil. When Cecily comes in, tell her I’ll be back around one-thirty. Try to keep my favorite assistant from tearing her hair out,” she said to Jonathan.