LITMIR.BIZ

      One

      Hot shower. Cold Beer. Woman.

      Callan Sinclair sighed just thinking about the top three items on his “to do” list. After four hours of wading through rain and mud at the construction site in Woodbury, thirty minutes changing a flat on his truck, then nearly four hours on the road, Callan knew that the shower should come first. His jeans and boots were covered with dried mud, and a fine layer of concrete dust made his hair look gray instead of black. And with a throat that felt like a feather duster, the beer would be right behind.

      He could see himself now, sitting on a stool at his brother Reese’s tavern, a tall, frothy ale in an ice-covered mug in his hand, a ball game on the overhead television and Bonnie Raitt blasting from the jukebox. He could almost hear her deep, throaty moan about love gone wrong.

      He could probably leave the woman part of his “list” until the morning, Callan thought as he trudged up the stairs to his second-story office, but Abigail, his secretary, had seemed determined to reach him. She’d paged him three times this morning while he was still at the job site, but he’d forgotten to charge his cell phone the night before and the battery had gone dead.

      Whatever the crisis was, Callan was certain that his secretary could take care of it. Behind her tight blond bun, oversize glasses and tailored suits was the most organized, efficient, competent secretary in the world. During the year she’d worked for him, she’d always been on time, was never moody or subject to emotional outbursts, was terrific with the clients and best of all, she never bothered him with annoying chatter about her personal life.

      Cal didn’t even think she had a personal life. He supposed that most people would consider her dull, but what did he care? To him, Abigail Thomas was perfect in every way that mattered.

      Cal glanced at his watch as he reached for the office door. It was four o’clock, so he had time to handle whatever problem Abigail might be having, stop by his apartment for a shower, then get over to the tavern for a beer. Maybe he’d give Shelly Michaels a call, see if she wanted to join him. He hadn’t had much time for female companionship lately, but he and Shelly saw each other from time to time. She was sexy and fun and didn’t think about wedding rings if a guy asked her out more than once. At thirty-three, Cal knew he should be thinking about settling down, but he wasn’t quite ready for the Big Squeeze yet. Maybe another year or two. Or three. Besides, he’d always thought that Gabe, being the oldest, should be the first to jump into those cold, deep waters. To go boldly where no man had gone before—or in this case, no Sinclair man.

      So for now, the only steady woman in Callan’s life was his secretary. Dependable, reliable, steadfast Abigail.

      She’d

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