The Man for Maggie. Lee Mckenzie

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      Hello? A young, teenage boy lost his father and everyone expected him to just “get over it”? Maggie had only been a little older when her father died. She’d missed him like crazy, but on another level, he’d still been there with her and her mother. That was when she’d first become aware that she had what Aunt Margaret called “the gift.”

      “Maybe he really missed his father,” she said.

      “Anything’s possible, but according to Leslie, Judge Durrance was a workaholic. He devoted himself to his career and other than having high expectations of her and Nick, he pretty much ignored them.”

      “Who’s Leslie?”

      “Nick’s sister.”

      “I see,” Maggie said, glancing at the timer. Only a few more minutes. “How does your skin feel?”

      “Great. How long does this stay on?”

      “Just another minute or two. So, is Leslie older or younger than Nick?”

      “A year younger. She’s an attorney, just like everyone expected her to be. Probably her mother’s influence. Lydia Durrance—Nick’s mother—is an amazing woman. She has a beautiful home and she puts on the most incredible garden parties you’ve ever been to.”

      Except that Maggie had never been to one. The Village was well-known for its parties, but they weren’t the garden variety.

      Allison was still gushing. “On top of that, she does a lot for the community. There’s even a charity named after her.”

      “Really? She sounds formidable.”

      Allison laughed. “She is, in a way.”

      And yet you’d give almost anything to be her, Maggie thought. Interesting.

      The timer buzzed. “All right, then. Let’s take this off.” She gently washed the mask off Allison’s face and patted her skin dry. “What do you think?”

      Allison ran both hands along the sides of her face. “Amazing. I don’t know how you do this with just the stuff in your kitchen.”

      “Chemical-based products dry your skin and then you need more chemicals to make it moist again. Natural ingredients are all about pampering yourself.”

      “When you first told me about this idea of yours, I didn’t think it would work. Now I can’t wait for your spa to open. Will you let me be the first customer?”

      Maggie walked her neighbor to the front door. “Sure. Any chance you might tell your friends about it, too?”

      Allison smiled one of her rare smiles. “You know, I’m tempted to keep you all to myself.”

      Maggie laughed. “Then you’d better plan to give me a lot of business!”

      Allison gave her an unexpected hug. “I’m glad you moved into your aunt’s house, Maggie. Miss Meadowcroft was a nice neighbor, but I think I’m really going to like having you here.”

      Maggie hugged her back. “What a sweet thing to say. Thank you.”

      “I’d better get home. John will be wondering what’s happened to me and the kids are probably driving him crazy.”

      “Tell him I said hello.” Maggie gently closed the door, then bolted up the stairs to find those yearbooks.

      NICK CRACKED OPEN a beer and tossed a frozen dinner into the microwave. After punching a few numbers on the keypad, he leaned against the counter and took a swig from the bottle.

      Images of Maggie Meadowcroft and the sound of her silky-smooth voice kept drifting through his mind. She was one intriguing woman. Damned attractive—for all the obvious reasons, of course—and he’d swear she didn’t have a pretentious bone in her body. In spite of the pearls.

      He tried to picture his mother and sister at a place that served up skin-care products made of yogurt and mayonnaise.

      Nope. Couldn’t do it.

      Nothing but the best for the Durrance women, and everyone knew the best came with a hefty price tag and a designer label. Maggie, on the other hand, wanted to sink her inheritance into converting an old house into a day spa.

      What had she called it? Inner Beauty?

      Actually he kind of liked the sound of that. It suggested that she intended to work with what a person already had instead of trying to make them into something they weren’t. Admirable intentions but not much of a business plan. Especially not for this town, where people like his mother and sister were the rule rather than the exception.

      The microwave pinged just as he finished his beer. He grabbed another from the fridge, fished around in the cutlery drawer for a fork and opened the microwave. Using a dish towel as a pot holder, he slid his dinner out and dumped it on the counter before the heat completely pierced the towel.

      He shoved the newspaper and three days’ worth of mail to the side, pulled the cellophane cover off his dinner and inhaled. Man, he really needed to learn how to cook.

      Maggie seemed pretty handy in the kitchen.

      But thinking about Maggie was not good. Especially since it looked as though she was about to become a client.

      He jabbed the remote, thinking the news or even a sitcom rerun would be preferable to thinking about one very sassy little makeover specialist. Five minutes and twenty channels later, he was still thinking about her. He’d also finished his dinner and was halfway through his second beer. Maybe he should take a look at the mail.

      Phone bill.

      Credit card application.

      Something addressed to “Occupant.” He tossed that one straight into the trash.

      An ivory vellum envelope. His mother’s trademark stationery, addressed in his sister’s handwriting. He stared at it, trying to figure out what Leslie might have sent him.

      An invitation to someone’s birthday? No. His grandmother’s birthday was in the fall. So was Leslie’s. His mother had just had hers and if there’d been a celebration, he hadn’t been invited. He’d sent flowers, though, and a week later had received a stilted thank-you note—in an envelope exactly like this one.

      So what could this be? He picked up the envelope, turned it over and studied the flap.

      What the hell? Go for it.

      It was an invitation to his sister’s wedding. He sure couldn’t have predicted that.

      The inner envelope was addressed to “Nick and Escort.” Great. They expected him to subject someone to a Durrance family function. On the bright side, they didn’t want him to be in the wedding party. And if he worked at it, maybe he could come up with an excuse not to go at all.

      He read the card. Leslie was to marry Gerald Bedford III. The third in a succession of stuffed shirts. Nick had only seen them together twice and that was all it had taken to know this was not a match made in heaven. It was, СКАЧАТЬ