In Good Company

“Black Jack?” Molly’s eyes widened. “Your brother sounds intriguing.”

“He has a past.”

“Don’t we all.” Reluctant to talk about her own, Molly didn’t press her friend about Jack.

Charity met her gaze. “Seriously, Mol, this is a big one. Think about it. For seventy-five years, Charity City folks have put their money where their mouths are. The funding is used for the women’s shelter, scholarships and start-up capital for new businesses. Where’s your civic pride? We need to pool our resources and make this the best event ever.”

“Okay. You’re right.” Molly sighed dramatically. “Besides, whining isn’t working. I might as well just suck it up and get on board.”

“That’s the spirit. And what we need is strategy. It’s always harder to get the guys to step up. And that has nothing to do with you or your way with men. I think it’s more about testosterone or something.” Charity tapped her lip. “Speaking of which, I did have an idea.”

“You’re going to sprinkle testosterone in the iced tea of every unsuspecting man in town?”

“No way. But there’s a lovely little thing called community service. I’ll talk to Judge Gibson and see what he can do to help us.”

“You’re going to recruit convicted felons? How much do you suppose ex-cons would fetch at auction?” Molly asked wryly.

“First of all, they wouldn’t be ex-cons because they haven’t been sent up the river. I’m thinking more the slap-on-the-wrist-because-they-had-a-little-too-much-fun sort. Second, it could be profitable. Escaped prisoner and the warden’s wife can be a very powerful fantasy.”

Molly shook her head. “You know as well as I do that the auction rules prohibit that sort of hanky-panky.”

“Yeah.” Charity sighed. “More’s the pity. But speaking of rules—” she snapped her fingers “—what about Des O’Donnell? He got the preschool expansion project. The auction rules state that anyone who profits from foundation funds has to give back by donating their time.”

“Yeah. Des.” Molly couldn’t believe she hadn’t thought of that herself. He was duty-bound to participate. “He’s already started working on the new wing.”

“Then you won’t have to go far to talk to him.”

Talking to him was the problem. She was moving heaven and earth to avoid him. Ever since running into him at the grocery store, she’d been peeking around corners and sneaking to her car so she wouldn’t encounter him on apartment turf. Her lease was up in a couple months, and she planned to look for another place to live. But that didn’t solve her current problem. She needed to figure out a way to convince Charity to approach Des herself. Before she could, there was a knock on her door.

“Are you expecting anyone?”

Molly shook her head. “Probably someone selling magazines.”

But when she opened the door, Des was standing there. So much for moving heaven and earth. Whatever he was selling, she had no intention of buying. Besides, she’d been just this side of rude the last time she spoke to him in the grocery store. Why in the world would he show up for more?

“Hi,” he said, smiling as if nothing had happened. As if women abruptly turned their backs on him every day. And there was no way that happened. Not to Des.

“Hi. What do you want?”

His gaze slid past her to the dining-room table. “Sorry. Didn’t know you were busy.”

“Well, I am.” He was on the doorstep, not inside. She embraced the technicality as a reason not to introduce him to Charity. Then she noticed the empty container in his hand. “Did you need something?”

“Coffee. I forgot to buy it at the store the other night. And it’s your fault.”

“Mine?” she said, pressing a hand to her chest. Darn her heart was beating fast.

“You distracted me. The least you could do is loan me some.”

“Molly,” Charity said from behind her, “why don’t you invite the poor man in?”

Now she was stuck. If she sent him packing, she’d feel like the wicked witch of the Midwest. She stepped aside. “Come in.”

He entered, then glanced around. “This is nice. It’s different from mine. One bedroom or two?”

“Two. Down there,” she said, still avoiding introductions as she pointed past the kitchen island to the long hall. It led to a master bedroom with a walk-in closet and a bath. The room beyond that she used as an office.

Still looking around, he said, “I like what you’ve done with the place.”

“Thanks.”

Molly liked it, too. An overstuffed sofa in moss-colored chenille sat across from her entertainment center. Beside the sofa, a door led outside to a small balcony where she’d put a cute white wrought-iron table and two chairs. The interior was ultra-homey, with its knickknacks and artwork on the walls. Golly, she was going to hate to move.

With his index finger, Des nudged aside the lace curtain covering her big picture window and glanced outside. “Nice view. I have a completely unobstructed view of the parking lot.”

“Hello? Molly? I’m here.” Charity stood and walked over to them. “Hi, Des. Charity Wentworth. Remember me?”

Why hadn’t Molly thought of that? Charity had graduated a year before Des and was out of high school before Molly started. But Charity and Des would probably have known each other.

“Sure I remember you. How’ve you been?” he asked, giving Charity a quick, friendly hug.

“Fine.”

Molly watched the two of them, bracing herself for Des to go gaga over her gorgeous friend. Men did that to Charity all the time. And Molly had to admit it would bother her to see Des dote on Charity. Was she so pathetic? She didn’t want him, but she didn’t want anyone else to have him? Oddly enough, his pleasant look never even inched into gaga territory.