LITMIR.BIZ

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were scattered all over the floor and her papers were strewn across the round oak table that could seat ten easily and usually was surrounded by that many or more, all trying to talk at once. It was chaotic, but she loved the happy confusion. She could understand, though, how it might seem daunting and disorganized to an outsider. She shrugged. He’d just have to get used to it.

      “We have cleanup in another hour,” she said, stepping over a toy tank and rolling a tricycle out of their path as she plopped the groceries on top of the stove. “It’s hard to imagine now, but by the time we sit down to dinner, this room will be spotless. Look quick, though, because it’ll only be that way about twenty minutes.”

      Hank was still standing uncertainly in the doorway. “Are you sure I’m not putting you out? I know you told Liz it would be okay, but…” He waved a hand around the room. “You seem to have enough on your hands.”

      “Can you do your own laundry?”

      “Yes, but…”

      “Make your own bed?”

      “Of course, but…”

      “Are you any good at making coffee?”

      “Yes, but…”

      “Then it’s no problem.”

      Almost as soon as the words were out of her mouth, Ann regretted them. If he wanted to run for his life, she should have let him. She should have encouraged him.

      When Liz had first approached her about helping Hank out, she’d been adamantly against it. The man was the epitome of everything she disliked in the male of the species. He was handsome in some indefinable way that made him all the more dangerous. He had the powerful shoulders and chest of a lumberjack. He managed to have a light tan on slightly freckled skin that by all rights should only turn beet-red in the sun. His hair and beard were a golden shade just shy of red. He had laughing blue eyes that could undress a woman in ten seconds flat, usually before the introductions were completed. He was bold and brash and irritating. His treatment of women had all the finesse of the caveman’s, yet they flocked to do his bidding. With a reaction that was part astonishment, part dismay, she’d observed his effect on them at the wedding.

      To top it off, his opinions on most subjects were diametrically opposed to her own. At the rehearsal dinner they’d been barely civil to each other. Their introduction had quickly escalated from hello into an argument about something so inane she couldn’t even recall it now. It might have had something to do with the hors d’oeuvres. Liz had witnessed the clashes with interest, which made her plea to Ann for help all the more unbelievable. Ann realized later it should have made her suspicious at once.

      “Think of him as a project,” Liz had challenged. “You’ll have weeks to work on him.”

      “I have six kids staying with me, plus a full-time career. I don’t need a project. I need a maid.”

      “You need a man.”

      “Oh, no, you don’t,” Ann said, just catching on to the direction of her friend’s devious thoughts. “Just because you’re crazy in love and radiantly happy doesn’t mean that everyone aspires to the same state of marital bliss. I do not need a man. I especially do not need a man who thinks that watching wrestling is cultural.”

      Liz had laughed. “Hank does not watch wrestling.”

      “Okay, maybe it was tractor pulls.”

      “You’re just a coward.”

      “Hardly. I just don’t have time to waste trying to rehabilitate a thirty-seven-year-old man. It’s too late.”

      “You’re a psychologist. You know perfectly well it’s never too late to reform someone.”

      “If they want to be reformed. What gives you the idea that Hank Riley has any desire to change?”

      “Think of it as an experiment. You could probably get a great research paper out of it.”

      “You’re stretching, Liz.”

      “I’m desperate,” Liz had admitted finally. “I already told him you’d do it.”

      “Why on earth would you do that?”

      “It was a calculated risk. When have you ever turned down a stray?”

      “Hank Riley has a home to go to. From everything you’ve told me and my own observations, he has more women to look after him than Hugh Hefner. He does not need me.”

      Liz merely smiled. Ann found the reaction irritating. And, unfortunately, challenging.

      “Maybe you’re the one I should be trying to reform,” Ann had finally said with a sigh of resignation. “Send him on. I suppose it won’t kill Jason and Paul to share a room for a couple of weeks. I’ll put Hank in Jason’s room. It’ll probably give him nightmares with all those awful sci-fi posters on the walls.” That thought had cheered her considerably.

      Liz, however, had looked very guilty. It had left her virtually tongue-tied for just long enough to panic Ann.

      “Okay, Liz. What is it you’re not telling me?”

      “Now don’t be upset,” Liz pleaded. “You can still back out if you really want to.”

      She buried her face in her hands. “Oh, Lord. It must be even worse than I thought.” She peeked. “Okay. Out with the rest of it.”

      “It’s just that it’s more like a couple of months, actually. Maybe three or four.”

      Ann had protested loudly at that, but she’d known she was beaten. There were moments when she’d even convinced herself it would be just fine. It would be good for the boys to have a male role model around. Not that Hank was the one she would have chosen, of course, but a little of that macho nature of his might be okay for them for a short time. He could take them fishing, play baseball. She could do those things perfectly well herself, but she knew in her heart it probably wasn’t the same. Whole textbooks had been written on a boy’s need for male bonding.

      Now that Hank was actually here in the kitchen, though, she wondered. He seemed a little overwhelming somehow. At the wedding, he had infuriated her with such frequency that she’d barely noticed that he had an interesting effect on her pulse. She’d assumed that it had been part of her constant exasperation with him, but he’d done nothing in the past five minutes to flat out annoy her and her heart was reacting peculiarly just the same. Maybe it was the sight of all those empty calories—doughnuts, potato chips, corn curls.

      “These have to go,” she said, taking a handful of packages and reaching for the garbage can.

      Hank snatched them away from her, an expression of horror on his face. Indignation radiated from every considerable inch of him. “Are you out of your everlovin’ mind, woman? Liz said you wanted groceries. I brought groceries.”

      “You brought junk. The kids will all be hyperactive if they eat that.”

      “So tell ’em not to touch the stuff. I’ll sacrifice. I’ll eat every last chip myself.”

      “You can’t tell children not to eat foods like that, then put them right smack in front of them.”

      “I’ll hide every bit of it in my room.”

      “See,” she said, waving a finger under his nose. “That is exactly what I mean. You’re addicted to that junk. That’s what it does to you.”

      His blue eyes took on a challenging glint. “I enjoy it. I am not addicted to it. There’s a difference.”

      “Smokers enjoy their cigarettes, too. That doesn’t mean they’re any less addicted.”

      He took one step toward her, which put them toe-to-toe. Close enough for her to smell the minty freshness of his breath and the clean, masculine scent of his soap. Near enough to kiss. Oh, dear heaven.

      “The

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