The Playboy and the Widow

One

“Mom, I don’t have any lunch money.”

Diana Collins stuck her head out from the cupboard beneath the kitchen sink and wiped the perspiration from her brow. “Bring me my purse.”

“Mother,”

eight-year-old Katie whined dramatically, “I’m going to miss my bus.”

“All right, all right.”

Hurriedly Diana scooted out from her precarious position and reached for a rag to dry her hands.

“We’re out of hair spray,”

Joan, Katie’s elder sister, cried. “You can’t honestly expect me to go to school without hair spray.”

“Honey, you’re in fifth grade, not high school. Your hair looks terrific.”

Joan glared at her mother as though the thirty-year-old were completely dense. “I need hair spray if it’s going to stay this way.”

Diana shook her head. “Did you look in my bathroom?”

“Yes. There wasn’t any.”

“Check the towel drawer.”

“The towel drawer?”

Diana shrugged. “I was hiding it.”

Joan frowned and gave her mother a disapproving look. “Honestly!”

“Mom, my lunch money,”

Katie cried, waving her mother’s purse under Diana’s nose.

With quick fingers, Diana located five quarters and promptly handed them to her younger daughter.

Five minutes later the front screen door slammed, and Diana sighed her relief. No sound was ever more pleasant than that of her daughters darting off to meet the school bus.

The silence was too inviting to resist, and Diana poured herself a cup of coffee and sat at the kitchen table, savoring the quiet.

She grabbed her laptop and, automatically went in search of part-time positions.

It was tempting, although Diana wanted to wait until the girls were a bit older.

Before Stan had died, there’d been few problems with money.

Now, however, they cropped up daily, and Diana was torn with the desire to remain at home with her children, or seek the means to provide extra income.

For three years Diana had robbed Peter to pay Paul, juggling funds from one account to another.

Between the social security check, the insurance check and the widow’s fund from Stan’s job, she and the girls were barely able to eke by.

She cut back on expenses where she could, but recently her options had become more limited.

There were plenty of macaroni-and-cheese dinners now, especially toward the end of the month.

Diana could always ask for help from her family, but she was hesitant.

Her parents lived in Wichita and were concerned enough about her living alone with the girls in far-off Seattle. She simply didn’t want to add to their worries.

“Pride cometh before a fall,”

she muttered into the steam rising from her coffee cup.

A loud knock against the screen was followed by a friendly call. “Yoo-hoo, Diana. It’s Shirley,”

her neighbor called, letting herself in. “I don’t suppose you’ve got another cup of that.”

“Sure,”

Diana said, pleased to see her friend. “Help yourself.”

Shirley took a cup down from the cupboard and poured her own coffee before joining Diana. “What’s all that?”

She cocked her head toward the sink.

“It’s leaking again.”

Shirley rolled her eyes. “Diana, you’re going to have to get someone to look at it.”

“I can do it,”

she said without a whole lot of confidence. “I watched a YouTube video online that tells you how to build a shopping center in your spare time. If I can repair the outlet in Joan’s room, then I can figure out why the sink keeps leaking.”

Shirley looked doubtful. “Honey, listen, you’d be better off to contact a plumber . . .”

“No way! Do you have any idea how much those guys charge? An appointment with a brain surgeon would be cheaper.”

Shirley chuckled and took a sip of her coffee. “George could check it for you tonight after dinner.”

“Shirley, no. I appreciate the offer, but . . .”

“George was Stan’s friend.”

“But that doesn’t commit him to a lifetime of repairing leaking pipes.”

“Would you stop being so darn proud for once?”

Funny how that word “pride”

kept cropping up, Diana mused. “I’ll call him,”

she conceded, “but only in case of an emergency.”

“Okay. Okay.”

Diana closed her laptop. “Let me save you the trouble of small talk. I know why you’re here.”

“You do?”

“You’re dying to hear all the details of my hot date with the doctor I met through Parents Without Partners.”

“Not many women have the opportunity to have dinner with Dr. Benjamin Spock.”

A smile touched the edges of Diana’s soft mouth. “He’s a regular pediatrician, not Dr. Spock.”

“Whoever!”

Shirley said excitedly, and leaned closer. “All right, if you know what I want, then give me details!”

Diana swallowed uncomfortably. “I didn’t go out with him.”

“What?”

“My motives were all wrong.”

Shirley slumped forward and buried her forehead against the heel of her hand. “I can’t believe I’m hearing this. The most ideal husband material you’ve met dances into your life and you break the date!”

“I know,”

Diana groaned. “For days beforehand I kept thinking about how much money I could save on doctor bills if I were to get involved with this guy. It bothered me that I could be so mercenary.”

“Don’t you think any other woman would be thinking the same thing?”

Diana’s fingers tightened around the mug handle. “Not unless they have two preteens.”

“Don’t be cute,”

Shirley said frowning. “I have trouble being angry with you when you’re so witty.”

Standing, Diana walked across the kitchen to refill her cup. “I don’t know, Shirl.”

“Know what?”

“If I’m ready to get involved in a relationship. My life is different now. When Stan and I decided to get married, it wasn’t any surprise. We’d been going together since my junior year in high school and it seemed the thing to do. We hardly paused to give the matter more than a second thought.”

“Who said anything about getting married?”

“But it’s wrong to lead a man into believing I’m interested in a long-term relationship, when I don’t know if I’ll ever be serious about anyone again.”

“You loved Stan that much?”

Shirley inquired softly.

“I loved him, yes, and if he hadn’t been killed, we probably would have lived together contentedly until a ripe old age. But things are different now. I have the girls to consider.”

“What about you?”

“What about me?”

“Don’t you need someone?”

“I—I don’t know,”

Diana answered thoughtfully.

The idea of spending her life alone produced a sharp pang of apprehension.

She wanted to be a wife again, but was afraid remarriage would drastically affect her children’s lives.

Shirley left soon afterward, and Diana rinsed the breakfast dishes and placed them inside the dishwasher.

Her thoughts drifted to David Fisher, the man whose dinner invitation she’d rejected at the last minute.

He obviously liked children or he would have chosen a different specialty.

That was in his favor.

She’d met him a couple of weeks before and listened over coffee to the gory details of his divorce. It was obvious to Diana that he was still in love with his ex-wife. Although Shirley viewed him as a fine catch, Diana wasn’t interested.

Not until she closed the dishwasher did Diana notice the puddle of water on her kitchen floor.

The sink again! It would be a simple matter of tightening the pipes if the garbage disposal didn’t complicate the job.

Unfortunately the malfunctioning sink didn’t heal itself, and after Diana picked up Joan from baseball practice, disaster struck.

“Mom,”

Katie cried, nearly hysterical. “The water won’t stop!”

When Diana arrived, she found that the pipe beneath the sink had broken and water was gushing out faster than it would from a fire hydrant.

“Turn off the water,”

Diana screamed.

Katie was dancing around, stomping her feet and screaming. By the time Diana reached the faucet, the water had reached flood level.

“Get some towels, stupid,”

Joan called.

“I’m not stupid, you are.”

“Girls, please.”

Diana lifted the hair off her forehead and sighed unevenly. Either she had to call George or wipe out any semblance of a budget by hiring a plumbing contractor. Given that option, she reached for the phone and dialed her neighbor’s number.

The male voice that answered sounded groggy. “George, I hope I didn’t wake you from a nap.”

“No . . .”

“Did Shirley mention my sink?”

“Who is this?”

“Diana—from next door. Listen, I’m in a bit of a jam here. The pipe burst under the sink, and, well, Shirley said something about your being able to help. But if it’s inconvenient . . .”

“Mom,”

Katie screamed. “Joan used the S word.”

“Just a minute.”

Diana placed her hand over the telephone mouthpiece. “Joan, what’s the matter with you?”

she asked angrily.

“I’m sorry, Mom, it just slipped out.”

“Are you going to wash out her mouth with soap?”

Katie demanded, hands on her hips.

“I haven’t got time to deal with that now. Both of you clean up this mess.”

She inhaled a calming breath and went back to the phone, hoping she sounded serene and demure. “George?”

“I’ll be right over.”

Ten seconds later, a polite knock sounded on the front door. Diana was under the sink. “Joan, let Mr. Holiday in, would you?”

“Okay.”

“Mom,”

Katie said, sticking her head under the sink so Diana could see her. “How are you going to punish Joan?”

“Katie, can’t you see I’ve got an emergency here!”

She raised her head and slammed her forehead against the underside of the sink. Pain shot through her head and bright stars popped like flashbulbs all around her. She blinked twice and abruptly shook her head.

“Mom,”

Joan announced. “It wasn’t Mr. Holiday.”

Pushing her hair away from her forehead, Diana opened one eye to find a pair of crisp, clean jeans directly in front of her.

Slowly she raised her gaze to a silver belt buckle.

Above that was a liberal quantity of dark hairs scattered over a wide expanse of muscular abdomen.

A cutoff sweatshirt followed.

Diana’s heart began to thunder, but she doubted it had anything to do with the bump on her head.

She never did make it to his face. He crouched in front of her first. His blue eyes were what she noticed immediately. They were a brilliant shade that reminded her of a Seattle sky in August.

“Who—who are you?”

she managed faintly.

“Are you all right?”

Diana was ready to question that herself. Whoever this man was who had decided to miraculously appear at her front door, he was much too good to be true. He looked as though he’d stepped off the hunk poster hanging in Joan’s bedroom.

Diana knocked the side of her head with her palm to clear her vision. “You’re not George!”

It wasn’t her most brilliant declaration.

“No,”

he admitted with a lopsided grin. “I’m Cliff Howard, a friend of George’s.”

“You answered the phone?”

This was another of her less-than-intelligent deductions.

Cliff nodded. “Shirley’s at some meeting, and George had to run to the store for a minute. I’m watching Mikey. I hope you don’t mind that I brought him along.”

She shook her head.

Cliff was down on all fours by this time. “Now what seems to be the problem?”

For a full moment all Diana could do was stare. It wasn’t that a man hadn’t physically attracted her since Stan’s death, but this one hit her like a sledgehammer, stunning her senses. Cliff Howard was strikingly handsome. His eyes were mesmerizing, as blue and warm as a Caribbean sea. She couldn’t look away. He smiled then, and character lines crinkled about his eyes and mouth, creasing his bronze cheeks. She’d never stared at a man quite this unabashedly, and she felt the heat of a blush rise in her face.

“There’s a problem?”

he repeated.

“The sink,”

she murmured, and pointed over her shoulder. “It’s leaking.”

“Bad,”

Katie added dramatically.

“If you’d care to move, I’d be happy to look at it for you.”

“Oh, right.”

Hurriedly Diana scooted aside, sliding her rear end into a puddle. As the cold water seeped through her underwear, she bounded to her feet, wiping off what moisture she could.

Something was drastically wrong with her, Diana concluded. The way her heart was pounding and the blood was rushing through her veins, she had to be afflicted with some serious physical ailment. Scarlet fever, maybe. Only she didn’t seem to be running a temperature. Something else must be wrong—something more than encountering Cliff Howard. He was only a man, and she’d dated plenty of men since Stan, but none of them—not one—had affected her like this one.

“Does your husband have a pipe wrench?”

he called out from under the sink. “These pliers won’t work.”

“Oh dear.”

Diana sighed. “Can you tell me what a pipe wrench looks like?”

Cliff reappeared. “Does he have a toolbox?”

“Yes . . . somewhere.”

Women! Cliff doubted he would ever completely understand them. This one was curious, though; her round, puppy dog eyes had a quizzical look, as though life had tossed her an unexpected curveball. The bang on her head had to be smarting. She shouldn’t be working under a sink, and he wondered what kind of husband would leave it to her to handle these types of repairs. This was a woman who was meant for lace and grand pianos, not greasy pipes.

“When do you expect him home?”

he asked patiently. The flicker of pain that flashed into her eyes was so fleeting that Cliff wondered at her circumstances.

“I’m a widow.”

Cliff was instantly chagrined. “I’m sorry.”

She nodded, then forced a smile. In an effort to bridge the uncomfortable silence, she asked, “Does a pipe wrench look like a pair of pliers, only bigger, with a mouth that moves up and down when the knob is twisted?”

Cliff had to think that over. “Yes, I’d say that about describes it.”

“Then I’ve got one,”

Diana said cheerfully. “Hold on a second.”

She hurried into the garage and returned a minute later with the requested tool.

“Exactly right.”

He smiled at her as though she’d just completed the shopping center project. “Should I be doing something?”

she asked, crouching.

“Pray,”

Cliff teased. “This could be expensive.”

“Damn,”

Diana muttered under her breath, and looked up to find Katie giving her a disapproving glare. In her daughter’s mind, damn was as bad as the S word. “Don’t you have any homework?”

she asked her younger daughter.

“Just spelling.”

“Then hop to it, kiddo.”

“Ah, Mom!”

“Do it,”

Diana said in her most stern voice.

A few minutes later, Cliff climbed out from under the sink. “I’m afraid I’m going to need some parts to get this fixed.”

“If you’ll write down what’s necessary, I can pick them up tomorrow and—”

“You don’t want to go without a sink that long. I’ll run and get what you need now.”

He wiped his hands dry on a dish towel and headed toward the front door.

“Just a minute,”

Diana cried, running after him. “I’ll give you some cash.”

“No need,”

he said with a lazy grin. “I’ll pay for it and you can reimburse me.”

“Okay,”

she returned weakly. The last time she’d looked, her checkbook balance had hovered around ten dollars, give or take a dime or two.

Cliff took Mikey Holiday with him, but not because he was keen on having the youth’s company. His reasons were purely selfish. He wanted to grill the lad on what he knew about his neighbor with the sad eyes and the pert nose.

“You buckled up?”

he asked the eight-year-old.

Mikey’s baseball cap bobbed up and down.

“Say, kid, what can you tell me about the lady with the leaky sink?”

“Mrs. Collins?”

“Yeah.”

Cliff had to admit he was being less than subtle, but he often preferred the direct approach.

“She’s real nice.”

That much Cliff had guessed. “What happened to her husband?”

“He died.”

Cliff decided his chances of getting any real information from the kid were nil, and he experienced a twinge of regret.

He’d met far more attractive women, but this one got to him.

Her appeal, he suspected, was that wide streak of independence and that stiff upper lip.

He admired that.

It had been a while since he’d been this curious about any woman, and whatever it was about her that attracted him was potent.

A smile came and went as he thought about her dealing with the problem sink.

It was all too obvious she didn’t know a thing about plumbing.

Then he recalled the pair of puzzled brown eyes looking up at him and how she’d sensibly announced that he wasn’t George.

He laughed softly to himself.

The knock on the front door got an immediate response from Diana. “You’re back,”

she said, rubbing her palms together. She seemed to have a flair for stating the obvious.

Cliff grinned. “I shouldn’t have any problem fixing that sink now.”

“Good.”

The house was quiet as she led him back into the kitchen. Diana hadn’t been this agitated by a man since . . .

she couldn’t remember.

The whole thing was silly.

A strange man was causing her heart to pound like a locomotive.

And Diana didn’t like it one bit.

Her life was too complicated for her to be attracted to a man.

Besides, he was probably married, even though he didn’t wear a wedding band.

If Cliff was George’s friend, and if he was single, it was a sure bet that Shirley would have mentioned him.

And if Cliff was available, which she sincerely doubted, then he was the type to have plenty of women interested in him.

And Diana had no intention of becoming a groupie.

“I really appreciate your doing this,”

she said after a long moment.

“No problem. What happened to the kids?”

“They’re upstairs playing video games,”

she explained, and hesitated. “I thought you might work better with a little peace and quiet.”

“I could have worked around the racket.”

Diana nervously wiped her hands on her thighs. Then, irritated with herself, she folded them as though she were about to pray. Not a bad idea under the circumstances.

This man was so virile. He was the first one since Stan to cause her to remember that she was still a woman. Five minutes in the kitchen with Cliff Howard and she was thinking about satin sheets and lacy underwear. Whoa, girl! She reined in her thoughts.

“Could you hand me the wrench?” he asked.

“Sure.”

Diana was glad to do anything but stand there staring at the dusting of hairs above his belly button.

“I don’t think I caught your first name,”

he said next.

“Diana.”

He paused, his hands holding the wrench against the pipe. “It fits.”

“The pipe?”

“No,”

he said, grinning. “Your name.”

He pictured a Diana as soft and feminine, and this one was definitely that.

Her hair was the color of winter wheat.

She smelled of flowers and sunshine; summer at its best. Her face was sensual and provocative. Mature. She’d walked through the shadow-filled valley and emerged strong and confident.

Self-consciously Diana placed her hand at her throat. “I was named after my grandmother.”

Cliff continued to work, then altered positions from lying under the sink on his back to kneeling. “It looks like I’m going to have to take off the disposal to get at the problem.”

“Should I be doing something to help?”

“A cup of coffee wouldn’t hurt.”

“Oh, sorry, I should have thought to offer you some earlier.”

Diana hurried to her antique automatic-drip coffeemaker and put on a fresh pot, getting the water from the bathroom. She stood by the cantankerous machine while it gurgled and drained. Soon the aroma of freshly brewed coffee filled the kitchen.

When the pot was full, Diana brought down a mug and knelt on the linoleum in front of Cliff. “Here.”

“Thanks.”

He sat upright, using the cupboard door to support his back.

“Do you have children—I mean, you claimed you could work around the noise, so I naturally assumed that you . . .”

“I’ve never been married, Diana,”

he said, his eyes serious.

“Oh.”

He had the uncanny ability to make her feel like a fool. “I just wondered, you know.”

Her hands slipped down the front of her Levi’s in a nervous reaction.

“I was wondering, too,”

he admitted.

“What?”

“How long has your husband been gone?”

“Stan died in a small plane crash three years ago. Both my husband and his best friend were killed.”

Three years. He was surprised. He would have thought a woman as attractive as Diana would have been snatched up long before now. She was the marrying kind and . . . ultimately out of his league.

“I shouldn’t have pried.”

He saw the weary pain in her eyes and regretted his inquisitiveness.

“I’m doing okay. The girls and I have adjusted as well as can be expected. I’ll admit it hasn’t been easy, but we’re getting along.”

The phone rang, and before Diana could even think to move, Joan came roaring down the stairs. “I’ll get it.”

Diana rolled her eyes and smiled. “That’s one nice thing about her growing up. I never need to answer the phone again.”

“It’s Mr. Holiday.”

Joan’s disappointment sounded from the hallway. “He wants to speak to his friend.”

“That must be you.”

The moment the words were out, Diana wanted to cringe. She was making such an idiot of herself!

Cliff rolled to his feet and reached for the wall phone.

Because she didn’t want to seem as though she were eavesdropping, Diana moved into the living room and straightened the decorator pillows on the end of the sofa, positioning them just so. They were needlepoint designs her mother had given her last Christmas.

Five minutes later, hoping she wasn’t being too conspicuous, she returned to the kitchen. Cliff was under the sink, humming as he worked. The garbage disposal came off without a hitch, and he set it aside. Next he added a new piece of pipe.

“There wasn’t anything in the video about replacing pipe—at least in the one I viewed, anyway,”

she explained self-consciously.

“I’m happy to do it for you, Diana,”

he said, tightening the new pipe with the wrench. “There.”

He stood and faced the sink. “Are you ready for the big test?”

“More than ready.”

Cliff turned on the faucet while Diana squatted, watching the floor under the sink. “It looks worlds better than the last time I peeked.”

“No leaks?”

“Not a one.”

She straightened and discovered they were separated by only a couple of inches.

She blinked and eased back a couple of steps.

Neither spoke.

Sensual awareness was as thick as a London fog; Diana’s blood pounded through her veins.

Her gaze rested on the V of his shirt and the smattering of curly, crisp hairs.

Gradually she raised her gaze and noticed that his lower lip was slightly fuller than the upper.

It had been so long since she’d been kissed by a man.

Really kissed.

The memory had the power to stir her senses, and her hands gripped the sink to keep herself from swaying toward him.

She was behaving like Joan over a new boy in class. Her hormones were barely under control. “I don’t know how to thank you,”

she managed finally, her voice weak.

“It isn’t necessary.”

Feeling awkward, Diana said, “Let me write you a check for the supplies.”

“They were only a few dollars.”

That was a relief! He named a figure that was so ridiculously low that she could hardly believe it. She thought to question him, but recognized intuitively that it wouldn’t do any good and quietly wrote out the check.

“I don’t suppose I could have a refill on the coffee?”

Cliff surprised himself by saying. Standing there by the sink, he’d nearly kissed her. She’d wanted it. He’d been partially amused by her obvious desire, until he’d realized that he wanted it, too.

“A refill? Of course. I don’t mean to be such a poor hostess.”

She moved to the glass pot and brought it over to Cliff, who had claimed a chair at the table. Diana topped his cup and then her own, returned the pot and took a seat opposite him.

“Do you like Chinese food?”

he asked unexpectedly, again surprising himself. It wasn’t her beauty that attracted him so much as her spirit.

Diana nodded. Her stomach churned and she knew what was coming. She hoped he would ask her, and in the same heartbeat prayed he wouldn’t.

“Would you have dinner with me tomorrow night?”

“I . . .”

“If you’re looking for a way to repay me, then make it simple and share an evening with me.”

“Joan’s got baseball practice.”

Instead of looking for excuses, she should be thanking God he’d asked. “But Shirley could pick her up.”

Cliff grinned, his blue eyes almost boyish. “Good, then I’ll see you at six-thirty.”

Diana responded to the pure potency of his smile. “I’ll look forward to it.”

The minute Cliff was out the door, Diana phoned her neighbor.

“Shirley, it’s Diana,”

she said, doing her best to curtail her excitement. “Where have you been hiding him?”

“Who? I just walked in the door. What are you talking about?”

“Cliff Howard!”

“You met Cliff Howard?”

“That’s just what I said. After all these months of indiscriminately tossing men at me, why didn’t you introduce us earlier?”

A lengthy, strained silence followed. “I’m going to shoot George.”

“Shoot George? What’s that got to do with anything?”

Shirley raised her voice in anger. “I told that man to keep Cliff Howard away from you. He’s trouble with a capital T, and if you have a brain in your head you won’t have anything to do with him.”