Tame An Older Man

Elise gave him a playful tap on the arm. “You are not allowed to hit on any woman who’s a friend of mine. You’ll just break her heart, and then she’ll blame it on me.”

“Okay, okay! Jeez.”

Chance rubbed his arm, though Phoebe suspected Elise couldn’t possibly do him any damage, even if she tried. He had pretty good muscles for a lawyer.

“I’ll make my own introductions.” With a mischievous smile, he sauntered off, apparently intent on finding the object of his lust.

Elise rolled her eyes. “He’s hopeless.”

“But he’s cute. Why don’t we introduce him to Daisy?” Phoebe suggested.

Elise shook her head. “He is definitely not father material. Anyway, looks like Daisy’s otherwise occupied.” She nodded toward the buffet table. “Phoebe, who’s that she’s talking to?”

Phoebe peered at her friend, so easy to spot with that auburn hair shining in the light of the torches they’d set up for the party. Daisy was engaged in cozy conversation with a man. And not just any man.

“Holy cow, that’s Wyatt Madison.”

“You’re kidding,” Elise said. “I thought he wasn’t coming.”

“He said he wasn’t. What’s he doing here?”

“Enjoying himself, it looks like,” Elise said. “And look at Daisy. She’s laughing.”

“Holy cow.”

“What’s wrong with you?” Elise said. “This is exactly what we wanted! Maybe he’s the perfect one for Daisy.”

“He’s too old for her,” Phoebe said. “Now that I see them together, they just don’t look good. You know, as a couple.”

“Phoebe!” Elise objected.

“Maybe we shouldn’t have thrust them together,” Phoebe went on. “What if—”

“We didn’t ‘thrust them together.’ They found each other. Chill, Phoebes.”

“I think Chance would be a better bet. He’s gorgeous, nice, gainfully employed—”

“Don’t even start. I love Chance with all my heart, but he’s a cad in the worst sense of the word. Daisy’s looking for a husband, remember? A potential father for her potential baby. The last thing she needs is a guy who thinks wife is a four-letter word.”

“It is a four-letter word.”

“You know what I mean.”

“Well, I still think he’d be better than Wyatt Mad—” Phoebe stopped mid-name, then blinked her eyes a couple of times to clear them. Surely after one margarita she couldn’t be hallucinating.

“What’s wrong?” Elise asked.

“Daisy and Wyatt. They’re gone.” The buffet table, where they’d been huddling a few moments earlier, was now empty.

“Hmm. They certainly are. Maybe they hit it off, and they’ve gone somewhere a bit more private.”

“Bite your tongue.”

“Phoebe!”

“What do we really know about Wyatt Madison? What his grandparents have told us, and they’re partial. He’s in the entertainment industry, and that’s a strike against him. You have no idea what kind of wolves work in television. He could be an ax murderer!”

Elise just gave her a long-suffering look. “I was just kidding before when I suggested you wanted to keep Wyatt for yourself. But you keep this up, I’ll start to believe you really do want him.”

“Oh, don’t be ridiculous. Besides, that would be almost incestuous. The Madisons think of me as their daughter, and they raised Wyatt as their own son—”

“You’re making excuses.”

Phoebe would have argued more, but Elise’s fiancé, James Dillon, approached them. Or rather, he approached Elise. Phoebe doubted he even saw her there. He was so completely in love with Elise, he only had eyes for her.

“I’ve been looking all over for you,” he chastised gently, kissing her on the cheek.

Phoebe quietly sighed. Watching Elise and James fall in love had been fun. Elise had never been so happy. James was absolute proof that good men did exist. Still, in Phoebe’s experience, they were few and far between.

Phoebe’s mother had always told her she had everything she needed to land herself a good husband—drop-dead good looks and a body that wouldn’t quit. Phoebe hadn’t found her mother’s advice to be true. After the Hollywood fiasco, she had stopped thinking about husbands, and men in general. She was creating her own future, one in which she wouldn’t have to depend on her sex appeal to bring her success. Nor would she have to depend on another person—husband, boss, casting director, agent, plastic surgeon, whoever.

“You are way too gorgeous to be standing around by yourself,” Jeff said. “Wanta blow this joint and go make our own action?”

Phoebe smiled. “You have to work and I’m the hostess. I can’t disappear. Otherwise, I’d jump at such an attractive invitation.”

Jeff shrugged. “Can’t blame a guy for trying.”

PHOEBE AWOKE the next morning feeling unsettled and not very well rested. Then she realized why. Daisy and Wyatt had disappeared last night, and she hadn’t seen either of them for the rest of the evening.

Daisy was very vulnerable. Recently her doctor had told her that if she ever wanted to have children, she needed to do it now, before her endometriosis rendered her infertile. Daisy did want children, very much. But she refused to have a baby without a husband. She’d been a “love child” herself, and no kid of hers was growing up without a father.

Now Daisy was so focused on the idea of finding Mr. Right and settling down that her usually keen powers of discernment might be impaired. If Wyatt had taken advantage of Daisy’s clouded judgment, Phoebe would string him up by his toes!

Phoebe hopped in the shower to clear the fuzz from her mind, threw on a pair of overalls and a purple ribbed shirt, then grabbed the phone and dialed Daisy’s number.

No answer. Even the answering machine didn’t pick up. That was a bad sign.

Phoebe went out into the hallway and walked slowly past Wyatt’s door. His newspaper was out in the hallway, uncollected. Another bad sign.

She stopped right in front of the door. Then she pressed her ear against it. Nothing, darn it. Then again, the walls and doors at Mesa Blue were extraordinarily well insulated.

Just then the door jerked open, and Phoebe pitched forward. A strong pair of arms prevented her from falling flat on her face.

“Good morning to you, too,” Wyatt said, setting her back on her feet.

“Oh, uh…” Think, Phoebe! And she’d better come up with an excuse real fast. But somehow, she couldn’t think of anything but those strong arms catching her.

Wyatt bent down and retrieved the paper. He wore only a pair of running shorts—no shirt, no shoes.