Bachelor On The Prowl (14 page)

“Yeah,” Holly said, inserting her key into the lock, then pushing open the door to the private offices, motioning for Jim to precede her as she went straight to the alarm system and punched in the proper code. “Julia’s wanted to get into the Southwest for a couple of years now, and she’s finally done it. Where’s Wellington?”

Jim looked down at his side, as if he expected the huge, loving black dog to be there, which he wasn’t. “Oh, yeah, I forgot. Margaret’s taking him to the vet today, for his regular checkup, and won’t drop him off until after lunch. Let’s hope the bad guys stay away, with our official watchdog taking the morning off.”

Holly laughed as she shrugged out of her raincoat and hung it on the antique clothes tree. “Wellington? A watchdog? What would he do to the bad guys, Jim. Give them the combination to the safe?”

Jim laughed, gave Holly a wave and passed through the doorway that led to the huge factory, where over a hundred sewing machines were already buzzing.

Turning on lights, starting the coffeemaker, Holly gave a few moments thought to Wellington. Technically he was still Julia’s dog, but neither she nor Max had the heart to coop the animal up in a New York condo, so they’d left him with Jim and Margaret. Jim brought Wellington to work with him every day, and the two went for walks at lunchtime, making Jim’s cardiac exercise more enjoyable. The plan worked beautifully, for everyone.

Holly remembered Julia telling her how Max had
come back into her life and Wellington—traitor that he was—had immediately made a fool out of himself, almost wagging his tail clean off to impress Max.

Dogs and kids. Theirs was a judgment a person could trust. Wellington had known at once that Max was one of the good guys, even though it had riled Julia at the time. How would Wellington react to Colin? He’d be here at lunchtime. Wellington would be here at lunchtime.

Was she up for a small experiment? Would Jim mind if she borrowed Wellington today? “Oh, Jim,” Holly called out, heading into the factory before she could change her mind.

C
olin realized he was whistling as he scrubbed out the frying pan coated in bacon grease. Whistling? He didn’t whistle. He didn’t hum, either, or at least he hadn’t done that in a lot of years. Not since he’d left the band, packed away his guitar, started playing grown-up at Majestic Enterprises.

He really had to get a grip here. Whistling? For pity’s sake—whistling?

There was a small radio on
th
e end of the counter, and he turned it on, found it already dialed-in to an oldies’ station. He cranked up the volume.

He slid the frying pan into the dishwasher, reacted for another pan and found himself singing along with the first few bars of “Old Time Rock and Roll.”

He rinsed the pan, fitted it into the dishwasher, flipped the door shut and grabbed the dishcloth that lay on the countertop.

He began pounding out the beat with the heel of his
right foot as he wiped the counters, his voice growing stronger as he sang about loving that old-time rock and roll. He danced his way into the dining room, twirling the dishcloth over his head, then wiped the tabletop as he kept up the beat, let himself
go
with the music.

Toeing off his sneakers, he eyed the shiny surface of the kitchen floor, then launched himself onto it, sliding all the way to the sink as he did his best Tom Cruise imitation, still singing at the top of his lungs, doing a little gyrating to the beat just like good old Tom had done in that movie years earlier. What movie was that? Oh, yeah,
Risky Business.
Okay, that fit. He was into some pretty risky business himself at the moment.

His shoulders moved, his hips shook, he picked up a serving spoon and held it to his mouth like a microphone, then turned to do another slide, back to the dining room.

And then he stopped. Stopped dead in midhip-thrust. Wanted to drop dead.

“Who
are you?” a rather petite, aging-well woman holding a brown paper bag filled with groceries said. She was eyeing him balefully, her wide green eyes raking him from white socks to uncombed hair, then back again.

“Um
…
hello,” Colin said, then realized he still held the spoon like a microphone. He dropped his arm, tossed the spoon behind him, in the general direction of the sink. “That is,” he said, dragging out his best “trust me, I’m harmless” smile, “good morning, Mrs. Hollis. You
are
Mrs. Hollis, aren’t you? Holly looks just like you.”

Hillary Hollis tipped her head to one side, raised her
eyebrows. “You know Holly,” she said as she brushed past him, deposited the grocery bag on the counter. “That’s good. Although I didn’t really think you broke in here, slept on that terrible pull-out couch, then made yourself breakfast. Do you have a name?”

“I used to,” Colin answered, grinning, “except I’m having trouble remembering it just now.” He held out his right hand. “Ah, it’s all coming back to me now. It’s Colin. Colin Rafferty.”

Hillary shook his hand, then went back to unloading groceries.
“
Rafferty? As in Max Rafferty?
”
she asked, handing him a loaf of bread and pointing to the wicker basket on the end of the counter.
“
Thank God. I thought she’d broken her vow never to date another male model. Handsome devil, aren’t you? You’re not a male model?”

“No, ma’am,” Co
li
n promised her. “I work with Max, in Paris. I
…
Holly and I met through Max and Julia, and I followed her here from New York because I’m crazy about her.”

“Or just plain crazy,” Hillary offered sweetly, switching off the radio just as the song ended. “I saw that movie. Saw it twice, actually, and I’ve always wondered if I would have the guts to do what you were doing. Was it fun?
”

“A lot of fun, yes,” Colin told her, leaning back against the kitchen counter. “I did sleep on that couch, Mrs. Hollis. Honest.”

“I’m sure you did.
I
trust my daughter, Mr. Rafferty. Oh, not to have proper food in the house, but I do trust her to behave herself.”

Behave herself?
That was a mother’s expression if
ever Colin had heard one. He coughed into his fist, then said, “Would you like a cup of coffee, Mrs. Hollis? There’s still some left in the pot.”

Hillary put the half gallon of milk in the refrigerator, closed the door. “I’d love some, thank you, but not if Holly made it. Why don’t you go clean up in the living room, put on your sneakers and I’ll make up a fresh pot. One that won’t quite grow hair on your chest.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Colin said, picking up his sneakers, and hiding his rather warm cheeks. His movements were clumsy, and he somehow turned the bow on his right sneaker into a knot as he tried to untie it. He hadn’t felt this out of step since his elementary school days.

“Oh, and please call me Hillary. One more
yes, ma’am
and I’ll think I’m in my dotage.”

“Yes mm—yes,
Hillary.
Thank you.”

He escaped to the living room, gathering up the sheets and piling them in the center of
the mattress before shoving th
e whole works back into the base of the couch. He replaced the cushions, the pillows, and carried his own pillow into the bedroom, tossed it on Holly’s bed.

Running a hand over his lower jaw, he decided he’d gone native long enough, rescued his portable electric razor from his shaving kit and got rid of his morning beard. He looked at his reflection in the mirror over the bathroom sink, and then he grinned.

“You’re
scared
of her,” he told himself. “She’s Holly’s mother, she holds a lot of influence over her daughter, and you’re scared spitless that you just made the mother of bad first impressions. God, Rafferty, this must be love.”

“Colin!” Hillary called from the kitchen. “Coffee’s ready if you are.”

He joined Hillary in the dining room, pushing back a smile as he looked at the already poured cup of coffee at his place setting, and the small dessert plate with three cookies on it. He wondered what would happen if he asked for four.

Hillary saw him eyei
ng the cookies. “They’re store-
bought, but really very good. I just don’t seem to have time to bake anymore. Did Holly tell you that I babysit Herb and Nancy’s three during the week? Well, I only have Mark all day
…
the twins are in second grade now, although summer vacations can really wear me out. So, why did you sleep on my daughter’s couch? Are you hoping for better luck tonight?”

Colin spit coffee into his napkin as he coughed and choked. Hillary was behind him immediately, slapping him on the back, telling him to put his arms up over his head, because that had always worked with her children when “something went down the wrong pipe.” Colin wiped at his chin, blinked his stinging eyes. “Mrs. Hollis—Hillary—I really think I need to explain something to you.”

“No, you don’t,” she said breezily as she returned to her chair. “Although I have a small confession for you. I already knew your name. Julia phoned me last night. Then Max got on the line. By the time they were finished, I pretty much knew everything there is to know. Why else do you think I’m here so early this morning, if not to catch a glimpse of the man who thinks he’s going to marry my baby? I hope you didn’t mind that crack about the male models? Max said I had
to say that. But it was Julia’s idea that I stop by this morning, once I was sure Holly’s Jeep was gone, and surprise you.”

By now, Colin had regained his slightly shattered composure.
“
Boy, when Max says Julia gets more than even, he wasn’t just kidding. Did she, that is, did they tell you what happened the other day?
”

“About Holly mistaking you for a male model? Oh, yes,
I
heard it all. And I saw you, just this morning, on an advertisement for the fashion special on CNN next week. You and a model, coming down the runway, then you kissing her. Have you seen it yet?”

“They’re using the bit I was in for the
promo?
Oh, boy. Please tell me this isn’t going out internationally. Everyone I know in Paris watches CNN.”

“I really wouldn’t know,” Hillary said, picking up her plate and mug and heading for the kitchen. He followed her.

“Holly wants me to leave town, you know. Probably wants me to leave the country.”

“That sounds like Holly. But Julia assured me that you’re sincere, that you really do care for her and that she was immediately struck with you. Howard, that’s Holly’s father, and I met one week, became engaged the next. We haven’t been sorry yet, and we’ll be married thirty-eight years in February. So you see, I’m a firm believer in the validity of love at first sight. I’d have to be, wouldn’t I?”

She loaded the plates and mugs into the dishwasher, added liquid detergent, turned it on, then looked up at the clock hanging on the wall. “Oh, would you look at the time!” she exclaimed, picking up her purse and
heading for the door—demonstrating to Colin just where Holly had inherited her fleetness of foot.

“You’re leaving?”

“I’m afraid so. I only grabbed a few things at the co
rn
er store to come over here and spy on you, so now I have to brave the Saturday crush at the supermarket for the rest of the things I need for Sunday dinner. Do you like rump roast? I make a fabulous rump roast.”

Colin leaned down and kissed Hillary’s cheek. “I love rump roast, thank you. Thank you for everything.”

“Don’t thank me,” Hillary said, giving herself a small shake. “Holly keeps swearing she’ll never marry, that she doesn’t want children. Of course, she only says that for self-protection, poor thing, because she’s been unlucky a few times. If Julia and Max are right, if Holly has fallen hard for you—and you’re half the man they both say you are—I should be thanking you. I’ve been waiting for this for years.
Years!”

And then she was gone, having blown in and out of the apartment like a mini
-
hurricane, and Co
li
n was left to sit on the couch, shake his head and then lay back, laughing until tears rolled down his cheeks.

Then he sobered, reached for the television remote control and started channel-surfing until he located CNN. How in hell was he going to explain this to some of the more straitlaced executives he dealt with in Paris? And did he care?

No, he decided after only a few moments. He didn’t care. How could he, when that walk down the runway had led him straight to the woman he was determined to make his wife?

* * *
* *

W
ell, there went another experiment, straight to hell.

Holly made a face behind Colin's back as he leaned forward on the park bench and rubbed Wellington’s belly.

Rotten dog. He’d taken one look at Colin, sniffed at his shoes for a moment
and then turned into a tongue-
lolling, tail-wagging sycophant.

“So this is the great Wellington?” Collin had said, scratching the delighted dog behind the ears. “To hear Max tell it, the main reason he and Julia are building a home here in Allentown is so that they can see more of Wellington. I don’t blame them. He’s a real sweetheart.”

“Yeah, I get all choked up every time I see him myself,” Holly had told him sourly as she’d pulled on the dog’s leash, heading out of the office.

Now, forty-five minutes later, the remnants of their fast-food lunch were stuffed into the paper bag and tossed in a wire waste can in the park. Holly had downed two hamburgers, Colin the same, and Wellington had pigged out on three, plus half of Holly’s French fries.

“He needs exercise,” Holly told Colin, and reached in her huge purse, pulling out a large rawhide bone. “Jim says to throw it and Wellington will play fetch until it’s time to go back to work.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Colin said, taking the bone from her, showing it to Wellington and then tossing it out over the grass. The dog was off like a shot, his black coat gleaming in the sun as he covered ground with remarkable speed.

“So,” Colin said as Wellington, the bone now in his mouth, was sidetracked by three small children who
wanted to pet him. He laid down, raised all four paws in the air and let them scratch his belly. “Now that Wellington’s taken care of, how was your morning?
Busy?”

Holly nodded. “The whole place is a madhouse. We’ve got the work
ers all on Saturday overtime be
cause we have to finish a huge order today. Faxes are piling up, which is a good thing, because most of them are orders for the new bridal wear. Our only blessing is that nobody’s phoning us, as eve
r
yone must think we’re closed for the weekend. Otherwise, I wouldn’t even have been able to steal away for lunch.”

“You love it, don’t you? The rush, the hassles, the pressure?”

Holly was about to agree, but then she stopped herself. Thought about it for a moment. “I don’t know,” she said at last.
“
1 mean, I
do
love my job. I like feeling like a success.
I am a
success, da
rn
it.”

“But you’re not sure if this is what you want to do for the rest of your life?”

Holly looked at him, feeling uncomfortable, and not knowing why. A week ago she’d been happy. Not delirious, not in her personal life anyway, but her job had never been anything but a joy. In fact, she’d pretty much talked herself into the idea that she’d been bo
rn
to be a career woman. A good aunt, yes, but with no kids of her own. A good daughter, but never a mother. Never a wife.

Oh, maybe someday. Someday she’d meet somebody, somebody with mutual interests—maybe they’d share a liking for the same arthritis medicine, the same flavor of powdered fiber. Just two over-the-hill types who’d decided that together was better than alone.

And wasn’t
that
depressing!

When she didn’t answer, Colin pushed at her. “I’ve been told that you’ve pretty much decided never to marry, never to have kids.”

She swung around on the bench, glared at him. “Who told you that?”

He grinned, and Holly felt her stomach go into a knot. “Your mother?” he half offered, half questioned, and then quickly raised his hands in front of his face— which was a good thing, because Holly immediately longed to grab his throat and wring the rest of the story out of him.

“My
mother?”
She jumped up from the bench, pressed one hand against her spine, the other to her forehead—the drama queen going into action, although she didn’t notice; she was too angry. “My mother. Of course. Why not? Julia. Max. And now my mother. And did you tell her about this stupid cr
ush thing? Our im
mersion-aversion experiment? Oh, of course you did. You couldn’t resist, and Mom just gobbled it all up, didn’t she? That’s it! Experiment’s over! I’m outta here!”

And the rat, the dirty rat, just sat there and let her go. Probably because he knew, as she knew, that she really had nowhere to run
…