LITMIR.BIZ

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      “Just a minute,” Paris said, holding back when Randy would have run on

      “You know, you’ve completely lost your cardio momentum,” he said, jogging in place.

      “And you’ve lost your mind. Why did you tell your friends I was coming to the picnic when you haven’t mentioned it to me?”

      “Because if I go with a woman, they won’t spend all afternoon trying to fix me up. Please, Paris. Help me out here.”

      Paris gave him a dirty look and jogged off. She hated to admit that there was something delicious about the ground flying under her feet, the sweet air filling her lungs and a strong man beside her, looking wonderful in his T-shirt and shorts.

      “I’ll get you for this,” she threatened so that he wouldn’t see her pleasure in the moment.

      He cast her a glance, his expression curious. “I think you’ve already got me.”

      Dear Reader,

      As a nondriver, I take cabs a lot and have found cabdrivers to be the most interesting people. One of our local companies is owned by a woman who employs her daughter and another woman I know. I love riding with them. Not that male drivers aren’t also interesting, but it’s always nice to have a woman-to-woman conversation while watching the scenery go by.

      When I was looking for a way to extend our MEN OF MAPLE HILL series, I remembered that I’d made casual mention in a previous book of two sisters who came home after their dreams were short-circuited and now owned a cab company. I had intended that little tidbit to simply give texture to that moment, but now appreciated that it held story potential. So many of our paths in life are taken because other carefully made plans fall through and we’re forced to search for a new direction. What better way to do that than with other people on a journey, sitting in the back seat of your cab?

      Hope you enjoy riding with Paris and Prue.

      Sincerely,

      Muriel

      Man in a Million

      Muriel Jensen

       www.millsandboon.co.uk

      To Paul and Tiana and the gang at the Urban Cafe.

       Thanks for the wonderful food and the even better company.

      CONTENTS

      CHAPTER ONE

      CHAPTER TWO

      CHAPTER THREE

      CHAPTER FOUR

      CHAPTER FIVE

      CHAPTER SIX

      CHAPTER SEVEN

      CHAPTER EIGHT

      CHAPTER NINE

      CHAPTER TEN

      CHAPTER ELEVEN

      CHAPTER TWELVE

      CHAPTER THIRTEEN

      CHAPTER FOURTEEN

      CHAPTER FIFTEEN

      CHAPTER SIXTEEN

      CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

      CHAPTER ONE

      PARIS O’HARA WAS SERIOUSLY tempted to run in the other direction. This was not about being rude, she told herself. This was about taking charge of her life, clearing the decks, pulling it together. If Randy Sanford’s feelings were hurt in the process, she wasn’t to be blamed. She had to let him know where she stood.

      It was all Addy Whitcomb’s fault. If she wasn’t so determined to turn every unattached man working for Whitcomb’s Wonders—her son’s formidable collective—and every single woman in Maple Hill, Massachusetts, into one half of a happy relationship, Paris wouldn’t be hiding behind her cab and mustering her courage.

      She’d peeked around the corner just a moment ago and seen Randy Sanford in the driveway of the fire station, washing down the red-and-white ambulance in which he and his partner responded to emergencies.

      Paris’s friend, Mariah Trent, had pointed him out at a school fund-raiser. He was short and portly and clearly the life of the party. Everyone around him had been laughing.

      Had it been a year ago, and had Randy Sanford been more serious, Paris might have caved in to Addy’s insistence that they meet. But it wasn’t. It was now. And nothing in her life was funny.

      Paris peeked around the corner again.

      The timing was perfect. One of the fire trucks was being serviced, and the other was being used to conduct a demonstration on fire safety at the elementary school. Except for a skeleton crew of firemen shooting hoops on the other side of the building, her quarry was alone.

      Russell Watson’s voice blared from inside the ambulance and Randy lip-synched “Va Pensiero” as Paris squared her shoulders, marched around the corner and stopped beside him. “Randy Sanford?” she asked.

      He opened his mouth to reply, then raised his index finger in a “just-a-minute” gesture as he crossed the driveway and turned off the water. She followed him.

      The moment he straightened away from the faucet, she offered her hand and what she hoped was a warm smile. “Hi, I’m Paris O’Hara,” she shouted over the music. “That’s my favorite CD, too. We’ve never been formally introduced, but Addy Whitcomb’s been trying to get us together for months. I apologize on her behalf for putting you through that. She means well, of course, but she’s so convinced that man can’t live without woman and vice versa, that she doesn’t understand ‘no’ when she hears it, and I’ve certainly said it to her enough times.”

      As he studied her closely, apparently waiting for her to get to the point, she noticed that he had very nice brown eyes and a very sweet face. She wasn’t much for buzz cuts, but it seemed to suit him. She followed him back to the ambulance as he ran around the vehicle, reached through the open window and turned off the music.

      He came back to her and opened his mouth again to speak, but she forestalled him, remembering that the last words she’d spoken had not been very complimentary. She was afraid he’d misinterpret the point she was trying to make.

      “Not that I have anything against you, personally. I mean, I gather you’ve been resisting her efforts to bring us together, too, because there was that one time when I’d driven the fourth-grade class to Boston because the usual bus driver was sick, and I came home so exhausted, I couldn’t think of a ready excuse to turn her down when she said you were coming to her house for dinner that night. But, then, she called me a half hour later and told me you’d backed out.” She winked at him. “I think you even volunteered to take over someone else’s shift so you could avoid me.” She laughed.

      When he continued to look dismayed, she cleared her throat. “Look, the truth is it’s clear you don’t want to date me any more than I want to date you.”

      He blinked and folded his arms and she added quickly, “Not that you’re not perfectly…appealing and…and… But I’m just not relationship material, you know what I mean? It’s hard to…to…want to get to know someone else, particularly a man, when you’re not even sure who you are.” Then, wishing she hadn’t even let that fact surface, she tried to cover it up. “Oh, I’m Paris O’Hara, of course. We both know that. But I mean—know myself in a Zen sort of way. Do you understand?”

      He looked as though she’d fried his brain. She shifted uncomfortably, hating that the strong, secure woman she’d always been turned into a chatty idiot when trying to explain herself. And she’d done that a lot lately because she really didn’t know who she was—in a Zen sort of way or any other way.

      She put a hand on his arm, desperately trying to make a friend of him rather than an enemy.

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