Sweet Harmony

Ophelia shook her head slightly. “Those people wonder why the media gets a bad rap. Someone’s trampled my impatiens.”

Marcus went to the window, but didn’t see or hear the circus she described. “Are they all gone now?”

“Goodness, no. But I did send someone out with brownies and pecan rolls. For sale, of course.”

Marcus grinned.

“This room is at the back of the house, so you can’t see them,” Ophelia explained. “I thought you’d like a garden view. The trucks and the girls and my ruined flowers are outside in front.” The innkeeper twisted her hands together. “I don’t think the nasturtiums will ever recover.”

“I apologize. And I promise to make it right, whatever damage has been done,” he said. “The entertainment reporters and paparazzi can be pretty relentless until they get what they want.” He shrugged. “Some people think it’s news every time an entertainer sneezes. I’d hoped for a nice quiet month here in your town.”

The innkeeper grinned. She hooked her arm in his. “You said your house is on Brandywine?”

He nodded.

“To my recollection, the only empty one over there is Mrs. Abersoll’s house, God rest her soul. It’s a lovely home. And it’s next to Kara Spencer’s place.” As soon as she said it, a sly smile crossed her mouth. “I saw the two of you on the news last night. Kara’s a nice girl. And she’s single, you know.”

Marcus got more than a whiff of preliminary matchmaking in the works and decided to remain neutral. “The forum was well attended and she was on the panel.”

The innkeeper chuckled. “Umm-hmm. But the electricity between you and our Kara was pretty intense.”

“Well, uh…”

“I know how to outsmart them,” Ophelia said.

“Who?”

She jerked her head toward the front end of the house. “Here’s what you have to do.”

“I don’t have a comment,” Kara kept trying to tell the smiling reporter. The card the woman had thrust into Kara’s hands announced that she was a field correspondent for All Urban Entertainment, a cable program Kara had never heard of.

This was the third crew she’d dealt with already. At this rate, she’d never get any work done today.

“Don’t be shy, Dr. Spencer. All of Marcus Ambrose’s fans want to know what’s at stake in your challenge. Is it true that you’re the reason he abruptly broke it off with actress Cameron May?”

Another name she failed to recognize. “Who? No, I—”

“He proposed to you last night and if he wins the challenge you’ll marry him? Is that it?”

“What?”

The cameraman leaned forward, zooming in first on Kara’s waist and then her ring finger.

“What are you doing?”

“Dr. Kara, it’s obvious—”

“That you all shouldn’t be picking on the good doctor.”

Three heads snapped toward the deep drawl behind them.

Marcus leaned against the railing leading to Kara’s front porch.

“Good morning, Dr. Kara.”

She narrowed her eyes at him.

The reporter whipped around. “Marcus, delighted to see you again. We understand you’ve found a new love.”

While they were preoccupied with Marcus, Kara slipped back into her house and closed and locked the front door. In the kitchen she put a kettle on a burner to boil water for tea, then dumped cut-up apples into a cast-iron skillet. Water, sugar and cinnamon followed.

She should toss a load of clothes in the wash and eat a late breakfast, but that grant application still waited.

She’d just put a foot on the first tread of the stairwell when the front doorbell rang. Again.

Kara wasn’t a swearing woman, but a few choice words came to mind. She snatched the door open. “I have no comment!”

“All right, then. I do. I’m sorry about all of this.”

Her gaze rose and met Marcus Ambrose’s. She hated the way her breath caught.

“This is exactly the point I was making last night before the forum turned into a Marcus Ambrose fete.”

“May I come in? If they swing back and see me here they’ll just keep ringing the bell.”

“I’ll call the police.”

“May I come in?”

Kara nodded. Just as soon as she acquiesced, she wondered why she didn’t send the man packing. He’d disrupted her entire morning.

“Wow. Something smells great.”

“My casserole,” she said.

He followed her to the kitchen. Decorated in blue and white, the room had a country chic look and feel to it. Blue-and-white gingham curtains fluttered at open windows at the sink and behind a table with four chairs. The pattern repeated on the chair pads and place mats. But the appliances and all the kitchen accoutrements were top of the line.

She checked the breakfast casserole in the oven. Five more minutes.

“About last night,” he began. “It was great meeting you.”

“What are you doing here?”

“I told you. The music and film festival.”

Kara shook her head. “No. I mean here.” She pointed to the floor. “In my kitchen.”

He shrugged, and Kara got a glimpse of what he might have looked like as a boy. Ready to charm his way out of anything.

“The inn was overrun with media.”

“And so you led them here? How could you?”

“Mrs. Younger showed me a shortcut.”

Kara nodded. “Through the alleys?”

“Bingo.”

“Well, thanks for getting rid of that reporter. You may leave now.”

“Aren’t you going to invite me to breakfast? Whatever’s in that oven smells too good to miss.”

The look on Marcus Ambrose’s face held such little-boy longing that Kara couldn’t resist.

He had rescued her, after all. Though, she reminded herself, she wouldn’t have been in need of rescuing—and she could take care of herself, thank you very much—if it hadn’t been for him. Still, there was plenty of sausage casserole. Would it kill her to be nice to him?

Yes!

But instead of kicking him out, she heard herself say, “The dishes are over there.”

Marcus set the table with a skill that surprised her.

She brewed two cups of tea. “I’m trying to wean myself off coffee,” she said. “I had a six-cup-a-day habit. But I can make a pot, if you’d like.”

He grinned. “I only drink green tea.”

“It figures,” she muttered.

“Is that a slam against Californians? Another stereotype, maybe?”

“Not at all.” She didn’t want to admit they had something in common. “You’re in luck, then, song man. I happen to have some green tea.” She tried to grab a canister of tea leaves without him seeing her extensive collection of teas, greens in particular.

“Song man?”

Kara blushed. Had she really said that? “I’m sorry. It’s what I always used to call you when my sister rhapsodized about you. She drove me crazy. She thought the sun rose and set for you.”

The telephone rang. Kara sighed. “Who now? The phone has been ringing nonstop all morning. I’ll never get any work done.”

“Would you like me to answer it?”

Horrified, she jumped up. “No.” She snatched up the cordless phone from the base. And a moment later she relaxed and sent a bright smile his way. “Hey, Patrice. I was just talking about you.”

That genuine smile, filled with affection and a hint of teasing, rippled through him the way the notes of a new song did. He relished the feeling, even though the chances of anything developing with the very attractive Kara Spencer were nil. She’d made that abundantly clear.

“Yeah, you left them over here. I put them in your room. Okay.”

She rang off and rejoined him at the table.

“Grace?”

Marcus bowed his head and said grace over their meal.

When was the last time he’d done that? He also couldn’t remember the last time he’d eaten a meal at a kitchen table. Anybody’s table.

This felt so good.

“I’m glad you recommended the inn. It’s great.”

“I told you.”

“But I’m not staying there. I’m looking for a house to rent while I’m here,” he fudged.

Kara nodded as she chewed. After washing her food down with orange juice she said, “There are several mansions over on Cherryville Drive that are available for lease. The paper did an article about them a couple of weeks ago.”

Something told Marcus that the hospitality and truce they were enjoying would end the moment he told her he’d actually found a house, next door, not one of the mansions. So he kept quiet. She’d find out soon enough. And she’d bite his head off then. No need to spoil a good breakfast.

A knock at the back door did that before he had a chance to.

Chapter Four

Before Kara even moved, the door burst open and a whirlwind blew in wearing jeans and a cropped T-shirt, a riot of corkscrew curls cascading down its back.

Kara groaned. “I’m sorry about this,” she told Marcus.

“Sorry about what?”

“Oh, my gosh. It’s really you!”

Marcus put down the forkful of breakfast casserole and stared up at the young woman. Then, remembering his manners, he rose.

“Patrice, Marcus. Marcus, this is Patrice Spencer, my sister. Your number one fan.”

“Well, hello. It’s always nice…”

She grabbed his arm, then let it go as if she’d been burned. “I have every one of your CDs.” To prove it, she plopped a gold tote bag on the table and then upended it. CD cases clacked against the table, and several of them hit the floor.

Marcus reached for them at the same time as Kara. The two bumped heads and then hands. A jolt of electricity ran up Kara’s arm. Her gaze connected with his and she felt again that sense of awareness, an inexplicable bond.

“I…”

“I’ll get them,” he said.

Kara nodded and rose. “Have you eaten?”

Patrice pulled out a chair and sat gazing at Marcus, a dreamy smile filling her face. “I just can’t believe.”

Kara waved a hand in front of her sister. “Hello. Earth to Patrice.”

“Here you go.” Marcus handed the CD cases to her.

“I can’t believe you’re really here. Right at my kitchen table.”

He glanced up at Kara. “Your kitchen table?”

Patrice blushed prettily. “Well, you know what I mean. What’s mine is hers, and vice versa.”

Kara set a plate in front of Patrice.

She helped herself to apples and some of the casserole. “There’s a mob over at the B and B. I think they’re looking for you.”

Marcus winked at her. “That’s why I’m over here.”

Kara thought her sister might swoon. A playful wink from Marcus Ambrose would provide at least six to eight months of quality retelling.

It was easy to see why Patrice was so infatuated with him. Marcus was easy on the eyes. But a relationship needed more than smoky eyes and a playful smile. Kara, while not actively looking for companionship, wanted more substance than style, more commitment than flash and dash. That’s why she and Howard Boyd made a great team. Howard didn’t upset her equilibrium.

With intense dark looks that radiated sex appeal both from his album covers and on the big screen, Marcus Ambrose was definitely the flash-and-dash type. Then there was that smile. Kara studiously ignored the little flip in her midsection when that smile—that Tom Cruise, Denzel Washington, Mel Gibson melt-in-your-mouth-not-in-your-hands smile—was aimed her way.

Since at the moment Patrice found herself the lucky benefactor of that gift, Kara figured it was time to make her getaway. Something akin to jealousy flickered through her. Patrice could get cozy with her hero, and Kara could get back to her laundry and then work on the grant application, without distractions.

She had to remind herself that she liked confident men, not cocky ones, and he’d definitely been full of himself last night.

As if on cue, Patrice asked, “So what’s this challenge between you two?”

“There is no challenge,” Kara said. “It was just hype for the television cameras. Mr. Ambrose was merely drumming up attendance and support for the film and music festival.”

“Actually,” he said, the word a slow drawl that Kara found oddly disconcerting, “I was serious. And so were you, Dr. Kara. You were quite passionate in your belief that those in the entertainment industry are a bunch of selfish, self-serving prima donnas.”

Kara winced. “I never said that.”

“But that’s how it came across. What kind of doctor are you, anyway?”

“She’s our resident headshrinker,” Patrice said.

“I am not a psychiatrist.”

Patrice tossed her head, and curls spilled over her shoulder and down her back. “She’s a psychologist. But lately she’s been spending more time cooped up with books than with patients.”

“I don’t maintain an active practice. You know that, Patrice.”

“So you’re writing a book?”

Flattered that he’d think she had the skills to write a book, Kara smiled. But the smile and the good feeling toward him disappeared in the next moment.

“I hope you’re not doing one of those female empowerment books.”

“What’s the matter, Mr. Ambrose, are you afraid that a thinking woman will see beyond the veneer?”

He smiled. “No, Dr. Kara. I’m looking forward to one who has the guts to try.”

Something in his tone—a real challenge, perhaps?—put Kara on alert. She sensed he spoke of more than what he actually said. He’d surprised her last night, and he seemed to have more surprises at the ready. “Forewarned is forearmed, Mr. Ambrose.”

“Let the games begin,” he said.

“See, that’s his problem,” Kara told her best friend a few hours later. She and Haley Cartwright Brandon-Dumaine sat at an outdoor table on the patio café at Pop’s Ice Cream & Malt Shoppe. “Everything’s a game.”

The two women made an eye-catching pair, each wholesomely pretty in her own way—Haley’s golden blond look to Kara’s rich caramel. Friends for years, the two claimed to covet the other’s assets, Haley wanting Kara’s petite figure and Kara wanting Haley’s tall, lush curves.

“Lighten up,” Haley said. “You looked great on television. And just think what the exposure will do for your programs—not to mention that JUMP grant you’re applying for. You could say you’ve appeared with Marcus Ambrose. And that would be true.”

Kara nodded. Getting that JUMPstart Activism community block grant would go a long way toward establishing two of the outreach projects she’d long advocated. According to the program material and the level of funding Kara sought, the granting committee liked applicants to already have established a support base in the community, a base that could be counted on to get the word out and act as foot soldiers.

To those looking in from the outside—people like superstar Marcus Ambrose—Wayside might appear to be an idyllic community, a perfect little slice of Americana. But Wayside had its fair share of problems. From homelessness to poverty.

Patrice was right, and so was Haley. Kara spent more time with her pet projects than she did with some of her original client work. She’d slowly phased that out of her practice, converting it instead into a one-woman resource bank for people in need.

She nodded her agreement, then scooped up the last of the hot fudge on her sundae. “Maybe I can turn this around into something worthwhile.”

Marcus Ambrose wanted to have a little amusement at her expense. Well, Kara could prove her point and win this so-called challenge.

Haley narrowed her eyes at Kara. “I don’t like that look in your eyes.”

Kara smiled and spread out her hands. “I’ve nothing to hide,” she said. “But I’m not above taking advantage of an opportunity.”

“What are you up to?”

“I just figured out how to best Mr. Ambrose at his own game. He wants to carry out this challenge. Well, he can start by picking up some of the slack on the Adopt-a-Spot program.”

Haley’s brown eyes widened. “He’s a star. I don’t think picking up trash is going to sit well. You can’t make him get down and dirty like that.”

Kara’s grin said otherwise. “Then he can help build a house for a low-income family.”

Shaking her head, Haley didn’t look convinced that either plan would work. “Matt is going to invite him to sing at a service one Sunday while he’s here.”

Kara wasn’t too thrilled about Marcus getting ensconced at their church. Haley ran the Sunday school division, while her husband, Matt Brandon-Dumaine, led the music ministry at Community Christian Church. Since he was a former nationally known gospel singer, it stood to reason that he’d want to connect with a fellow musician.

Nevertheless, she would have expected Marcus to hook up with one of the town’s larger churches, one that would showcase him to the largest number of people. With its 250 families, Community Christian was hardly a first stop on a celebrity tour—that, after all, was why Matt had sought refuge there.

“What did Reverend Baines have to say about that?”

Haley flashed her right hand in what was apparently meant as a careless, carefree gesture. Diamonds sparkled. “You know Cliff. He’s always excited about spreading the word through any ministry that will reach people.”

“And what’s this?” Kara reached for her friend’s hand, a twinkle in her eye as she waved her other hand around as Haley had been doing.

“I thought you’d never notice.” A big grin filled Haley’s face as she wiggled her fingers. “Matt gave it to me. To mark our first anniversary.”

Kara appropriately oohed and aahed over the anniversary band. “I can’t believe you guys have been married for a year already. What happened to the time?”

Since the question was obviously rhetorical, Haley didn’t respond to it. She instead asked one of her own.

“Guess what I gave him?”

“What?”

“A calendar.”

Kara groaned. “Haley, honey, you’re not really supposed to follow that anniversary guide from the card stores. Paper is so, well, cheap. Unless, of course, it’s stock options or bonds. And even those aren’t worth much in today’s economy.”

Haley’s eyes sparkled as much as her ring. The late-afternoon sun hit the blond highlights in her hair, providing what looked a lot like a halo around the Sunday-school director. “This was a special calendar. It had a date highlighted on it.”

Kara lifted her brow in an “And?” expression.

“And that date is almost nine months away. Well,” she added on a shrug, “it was almost nine months away when I had the calendar made.”

But Kara’s squeal drowned out the last of Haley’s words. The two friends were up and hugging each other, Kara crying and Haley beaming. Kara eyed her friend’s flat stomach.

“When? When are you due?”

Haley gave her the details. Marcus’s appearance at their church forgotten, the two women spent the rest of their time together talking about baby names and nursery colors.

That’s how Marcus and his entourage found them.

“Man, this place looks like it got lost in a time warp. Talk about Mayberry R.F.D.” someone said.

“It doesn’t look like Mayberry. It is,” another one of Marcus’s hangers-on said, casting a glance about Main Street.

Kara and Haley looked up at the crowd of people surrounding their outdoor table. Marcus and about six others stood not three feet away. The woman with the headset and clipboard stood sentinel at Marcus’s side, though she seemed to be having a rather heated conversation with someone. She touched him on the arm and motioned her head. Marcus nodded and she slipped away, pressing the earpiece closer and saying, “I don’t care how much it costs….”

“Good afternoon, ladies,” Marcus greeted them, the trademark smile operating at force ten on the weak-in-the-knees scale.

Haley, instantly charmed, held out a hand introducing herself when Kara didn’t seem inclined to do so.

“Hi, I’m Haley Brandon-Dumaine. It’s a pleasure meeting you. Welcome to Wayside.”

“Thank you.”

“If you’d like any information on the town, I volunteer over at the library and I’m also on the historical committee, so don’t be a stranger.”

Marcus smiled. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

“And you know Kara.”

He smiled. “Yes, I know Dr. Kara.”

For her part, Kara couldn’t believe that he’d rendered her speechless.

Patrice needs to come get her man, she thought, because he’s wreaking havoc with my senses. She tried to bring up a mental image of Howard, her on-again, off-again companion and escort—he could hardly be called a boyfriend. But Howard’s squinting image blurred in her mind with a computer monitor, just like the one he always sat in front of. An IT specialist, Howard Boyd lived and breathed computers. They’d last gone out three weeks ago—to a computer show and sale. It was his idea of a hot date, her idea of purgatory.

“Hello, Dr. Kara.”

She nodded. “Mr. Ambrose.” A man with a video camera edged around the group and aimed his equipment toward Haley and Kara. “I see you’re still being hounded by the local media.”

Marcus glanced at the cameraman. “Actually, he’s with me. I went back to the bed-and-breakfast, made a statement over at the college and gave a few personal moments and we’re all clear.”

Gave a few personal moments. For some reason that statement didn’t sit well with Kara. It was as if he could just push all the right buttons and get just what he wanted in his charmed world.

“We’re just doing a little filming to get a record of the town.”

“A video scrapbook,” Kara muttered.

“Yes, something like that.” He reached into his pocket, came up empty and called for the clipboard woman. “Nadira.”

She turned, and was instantly at his side holding out four slim tickets.

“I’d like you to be my guests at the opening reception for the film and music festival. It’s a blacktie gala followed by a miniconcert.”

“Why, we’d love to,” Haley said. “My husband is a musician, as well.”

“I look forward to meeting him. And you?” he said, addressing Kara. “Will you be bringing a date, as well?” His voice clearly conveyed the message that he hoped she wouldn’t.

Standing tall, Kara nodded. “Yes, of course.”

Marcus fingered his goatee. “That’s too bad. I should have known someone as pretty as you already had a boyfriend.”

“Oh, Kara doesn’t have a…” A quelling look from Kara silenced Haley. “Uh, what I meant was—”

“We double-date all the time,” Kara smoothly interjected. “So my friend and I look forward to your event. Tell me, Mr. Ambrose. Do you ever go anywhere alone?”

He smiled. “Would you care to find out?”

Kara blushed and backed down on the verbal aggression.

After a couple of people in Marcus’s group got ice cream cones to go, the entourage moved on. Haley turned to Kara.

“What was that about a boyfriend and double-dating? Since when are you dating anyone?”

Kara dropped her head into her hands. “I cannot believe I said that.”

“Neither can I. And where are you going to get a date for—” she glanced at the tickets “—Friday night?”

Kara looked miserable. Without even trying, Marcus Ambrose made her reckless. “That’s a good question. Maybe Howard is free.”

Haley wrinkled her nose. “He’s a computer whiz, but Kara, he’s…” She floundered for a word.

“Boring?”

“Well, there is that.”

“Haley, what have I gotten myself into?” Then she had a brainstorm. “What about Amber’s brother?”

Haley shook her head. “He’s out of the country. Deacon Prentiss from church can always be counted on as an escort, though.”

“Great,” Kara said, her shoulders slumped. “Just what I need to impress Marcus—an eighty-year-old pity date.”

The next afternoon Kara found herself no closer to landing a date to the gala than she’d been at Pop’s the day before. According to his voice mail, Howard was at an IT conference in Seattle. He’d left a phone number where he could be reached, as well as a pager number and an instant e-mail address—all in the event of an emergency.

“This is an emergency,” Kara mumbled.

But she didn’t page him, phone him or e-mail him.

She was about to pick up the phone and call in a favor with one of her male cousins when a truck backed into her driveway and over the flower bed that marked her property line with the house next door. She dropped the phone and scrambled outside.