LITMIR.BIZ

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know, Mrs. Ballantine, I really don’t,” Almira replied, sighing. “It must be this old age of mine. I just seem to do the most outlandish things.”

      Jessie looked from one woman to the other. Neither smiled. Neither allowed a single emotion to show on her face.

      “Why, you two sneaks! You’ve been planning this together, haven’t you?”

      “Darling,” Almira said reasonably, “Mrs. Ballantine and I can’t even plan menus together, not without nearly coming to blows.”

      Jessie thought about this for a moment, then pointed her finger at her grandmother, then at Mrs. Ballantine. She opened her mouth, wagged her finger a time or two as she searched her brain for something to say, anything to say. And then she let her arm drop to her side and said simply, “Thank you.”

      “Whatever for?” Mrs. Ballantine said, looking as innocent as a drill sergeant could, which wasn’t very much.

      Jessie rubbed at her forehead, trying to tell herself that nothing had changed, nothing would change. Then her blue eyes widened as another thought struck her. “Allie? Mrs. Ballantine? You aren’t going to say anything to Matt, are you? I mean, Maddy needs your help. Lord knows she’s been a mess, especially since Joe O’Malley’s company went public and his picture was on the cover of Newsweek— but you aren’t going to meddle in my life, right? Right?”

      Almira put a hand on Jessie’s arm. “I don’t meddle, Jessica. I never meddle. Why, I’m as surprised as you are that Joseph O’Malley bought the Harris house.”

      “Yeah. Right. Sure.” Jessie kissed her grandmother’s cheek. “You just keep on believing that Maddy and I believe that. And then keep your meddling out of my life.”

       Chapter Three

       J oe O’Malley heard the faint echo of a slamming door coming from the direction of the Chandler house. He stood stock-still, pretended for a moment he could feel the concussion of moving air and then began to count silently in his head. Twenty, nineteen, eighteen…

      When he got to twelve, he turned to one of the workmen. “I’m expecting someone shortly, Chad. Please just say I’m inside, okay?”

      Chad lifted his Phillies cap and scratched his head. “How will I know who your visitor is?”

      Joe shrugged. “Oh, I don’t know, Chad. Smoke coming from her ears. Fire sparks shooting from her eyes. You’ll figure it out.”

      “Oh, a woman. Well, that explains it,” Chad said as Joe leisurely jogged toward the open door to his new house, stepping inside just in time to hear a rather angry bellow that had his name in it somewhere, right before the words “you dirty, rotten, miserable…”

      He smiled, and headed for the massive kitchen. Food to soothe the savage beast, that was what he needed. He hoped this particular savage beast still liked peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.

      He was just searching through a pile of cardboard boxes for a loaf of bread when Maddy skidded to a halt inside the kitchen. “You.”

      As openings went, that “you” was fairly ominous, and he hoped all his sharp knives were still lost somewhere inside a packing crate. He turned, slowly, and looked Maddy up and down, careful not to reveal to her how much he wanted to grab her, kiss her and make mad passionate love to her as soon as Chad and his buddies brought in the mattress.

      God, how he had missed her. How he had lain awake nights, missing her. Spent his days missing her. Missing her smile, her soft mouth, her sweetly rounded body.

      When he wasn’t madder than hell at her, that is.

      “You rang?” he drawled now, holding up the peanut butter jar, which was a pretty sad defensive weapon. “I’ve always wanted to say that. Oh, and what happened to your lip? You look like you ran into something.”

      There wasn’t any steam coming out of Maddy’s ears. That had to be good, not that he’d really expected to see smoke.

      But he did see green fire, not red, flashing in her eyes. Emerald-green sparks, the sort that warned that a Maddy tornado was about to strike. And then, as if something he’d said had just filtered through the thoughts of mayhem skipping around in her brain, she brought a hand to her mouth, winced.

      “Damn it! Damn you, Joe O’Malley, look what you’ve done to my lip!”

      He leaned one hip against the counter. “Honey, I haven’t had time to do that to your lip. But if you want the bottom one to match it, I’d be happy to volunteer my services. A few kisses, a little nibbling…some gentle sucking…”

      She dropped her arm to her side, clenching both hands into fists. “Joe the great lover. Spare me, O’Malley.”

      He shrugged, careful not to smile. Or wince. “Hey, I tried. Now, is there anything else I can do for you? I’m kind of busy, moving in and all. But, as I was just about to make myself a sandwich anyway, I suppose the least I could do is feed you. Oh, and do you know you’ve got great big hives all over your neck? You look kind of polka-dotted, and kinda cute. Still, you probably ought to take something.”

      Maddy couldn’t think of anything more to say now that the first, blind explosion of anger was behind her. Besides, she was out of breath from running all the way, she was covered in hives—which couldn’t possibly add anything to her consequence, no matter what Joe said—and it was pretty hard to be cuttingly sarcastic when you could barely breathe and the man you wanted drawn and quartered was all but goggling at your chest as it heaved up and down with each breath.

      And she was pretty sure he wasn’t inspecting her for more hives.

      “You ’ought my house,” she said at last, her softly pointed but at the moment rather bumpy chin thrust in his direction. That was pretty lame, certainly didn’t convey all the emotions churning inside her, and she was having trouble pressing her lips together to form the letter B, but it would do for a start. “O’Malley, you ’ought my damn house!”

      “Is this where I plead innocence, or just when I ask you what in hell you’re talking about? I ought this house from the Harrises. Nice people, by the way. I met them this morning during closing on the property. They’re moving to Arizona, you know. Something about golfing all year round…gardening in every season. Something like that. Um, maybe you should sit down, Maddy. You’re not looking too good.”

      You are, she thought to herself, but she’d rather cut out her own tongue with a rusty butter knife than say so.

      How had she gotten here, anyway? She’d been looking through the binoculars one minute, and the next she was all but flying across the lawn, with no clear idea what she’d say to Joe when she cornered him. Definitely without remembering that she was rapidly turning into Hive Central.

      She still didn’t know what to say. She could only react. To his dimpled smile. His laughing, mocking eyes. The way he lounged against the kitchen counter, his bare legs crossed at the ankles, his body one tall, dark occasion of sin. Nothing at all like the shirt-sleeved, smiling “J. P. O’Malley” she’d seen posed on the cover of Newsweek.

      She’d burned her copy. Then gone out and bought another one. Right now it was hidden in her bottom drawer, along with the stuffed penguin he’d won for her at a local carnival, some photographs of them at the beach and a few other things she really ought to toss in the garbage.

      “I’m having an allergic reaction,” she answered at last. “And, ’y the way, I hate you,” she said feelingly. “I really, really, really hate you.”

      “Which probably means I won’t be welcome at the wedding next Saturday? Too bad, as I’ve already got my invitation and responded in the affirmative. I chose the beef dish, in case you’re wondering. You know how I never could stand fish. Is it an open bar? Probably. God, Maddy, you’re cute when you’re swollen, do you know that?”

      That did it. Maddy stumbled toward a chair sitting smack in the middle of

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