Worth Fighting For

Plus she had dreams of expanding her small apple grove into a full-on pick-your-own apple orchard. That required land. And money. And a few years to come to fruition, but Daphne was thinking big these days.

“I gave him my offer yesterday,” Daphne said. “I haven’t heard.”

“Well, good luck,” Alice said with a grim smile.

The sound of baby Stella fussing buzzed from the baby monitor tucked into one of the pots that hung from the ceiling, and Daphne’s entire body practically spasmed with longing. Hormones flooded her bloodstream and her heart chugged—baby, baby, baby, baby.

At thirty-seven Daphne’s biological clock was in hyperdrive and she wished she could tell her body that a baby wasn’t going to happen, that it could stop with the hormonal fanfare. But she couldn’t and so her womb set up a howl when she held Stella or heard her sleepy cry over the monitor.

Alice paused, listened then went to the sink to wash her hands. “That’s a real cry,” she said. “I better go feed her. I’ll talk to you later.”

Daphne waved goodbye. Finally it was just her and Tim in the kitchen. She prepared herself for some hardcore begging.

“Forget it, Daphne,” he said, before she could even open her mouth. “I’m not going.”

“Tim.” She sighed. “You haven’t even heard—”

“I don’t have to.” He turned to face her, pushing up his black glasses with his wrist. “I’ve been to two tedious functions with you in the past month.”

“Oh, come on. They weren’t that tedious,” she argued, knowing this was a losing battle. Political fund-raising events were boring. In fact, she’d learned they were the definition of boring. But she’d promised her ex, Jake, she’d go. Still there was no way she’d be going alone.

“This one is for the local school board,” she said. “A family-style picnic. You love picnics.”

“I hate picnics,” Tim practically cried. “Look, if it’s so important for your ex-husband’s political aspirations that you be there, why don’t you go as his date?”

Daphne shot him a look, making it clear that she’d really rather eat glass than go as Jake’s date.

“Then don’t go,” Tim said, scooping up his pile of peppers and dumping them into a bowl.

“I promised,” she said, as if it were that simple. In some ways it was. She had made the promise in the middle of the night eight months ago, while her ex-husband sat at her kitchen table and pretended not to stare at her legs under her T-shirt. That’s probably why she’d said yes, she’d been drunk off his sideways glances.

It had been eons since anyone had glanced at her, sideways or not.

But there were other, not as simple reasons she was helping Jake.

“Besides,” Tim said, crumbling a big block of feta over the peppers, “I hate to break it to you, sweetheart, but pretending to be your love interest isn’t fooling anyone. Three guys asked me out at that Democrats For a Living Planet event last week.”

“Really?” she asked, slightly stunned. She’d thought their act was fairly convincing.

“Really.” He nodded.

Daphne sighed, she knew a losing battle when she was in one.

“Anyone good?” she asked, pleased for her friend, even if he was dumping her.

“Yep.” His eyes twinkled. “As much as I’d love an excuse to go to some family picnic, Daph, I’m just too busy and frankly, I’m just too gay.”

She laughed and slung her arm over his shoulder in order to kiss his cheek. “It’s too bad all the other men around here are married,” she said. “Or as good as,” she added, thinking of Max and Delia. There was a lot of goodnatured betting going on regarding when Max would get around to asking the fiery redhead to marry him. If he did it before the end of summer this year, Daphne was going to be the big winner.

“Married or gay,” Tim joked and waggled his dark eyebrows at her.

“Excuse me,” a deep voice interrupted their laughter. Daphne and Tim twirled to the back door where a tall, dark and very handsome man stood, silhouetted in the bright morning sunlight.

Good gravy, she thought as her biological clock started its usual ruckus around handsome men of a certain age. Her womb was suddenly the overeager kid in class waving its hand screaming, “Me! Pick me!”

He was too good-looking to be real.

The stranger’s black T-shirt and blue jeans were the kind of casual clothes that looked more expensive than the finest suit. Or maybe it was the world-class body beneath them that made them look so good.

Daphne was suddenly very aware of her dirty gray chinos and work boots.

“Can I help you?” Tim asked casually, as if Brad Pitt’s younger, taller, darker brother walked into his kitchen every day.

She could barely breathe, much less talk.

The mystery man slid his trendy aviator sunglasses up on his forehead and Daphne was struck by the sense that she knew this guy. She’d seen him somewhere. And she knew something about him. Something bad.

Where had she seen him?

He stepped out of the doorway and the glare of the sun, and suddenly she remembered. His face had been all over the front page of the Times a week ago. He built condos on polluted land.

“I’m—”

“The Dirty Developer,” she said, snapping her fingers as it all came together. “That’s where I’ve seen you.”

As soon as the words fell from her imprudent lips she wished she could suck them back. She actually had to fight to keep her hand from slapping over her mouth. Tim pinched her and the Dirty Developer’s jaw tightened as waves of hostility rolled off him and pounded her right in the chest.

“I’m Jonah Closky,” he said and slid his glasses back over his eyes. “And I’m leaving.”

CHAPTER TWO

AND YET ANOTHER excellent example of my big mouth, Daphne thought, as the door swung shut behind Jonah.

“That’s the missing Mitchell?” Tim asked into the stone silence of the kitchen then whistled low. “You scared him off good. You better apologize.”

“To the Dirty Developer?” she cried; her skin practically crawled at the thought.

“To Patrick’s son,” Tim said and she groaned. He was right.

Daphne took off after the Dirty Developer/the missing Mitchell boy/the handsomest man she’d seen in real life.

You’d think by this point she’d have learned to think before she opened her mouth. But as Jake had always told her, it was as though she came with a broken edit mechanism. And a temper that didn’t really understand the phrase “appropriate time and place.”

Though she could usually control that.

“Hey!” she yelled at Jonah’s very wide retreating back as she chased him to his Jeep. The gravel of the parking lot crunched under her boots.

The guy’s angry stride made it impossible to catch up to him, and before she knew it he was pulling open the driver-side door of his dusty vehicle.