“Hello,” she called, expecting the house keeper he’d promised. But the house was dark and empty. A momentary stab of fear raced through her. What if there was no house keeper? What if it had been a ploy to get a woman alone?

That was ridiculous, she told herself. The employment agency had thoroughly checked out Hank Mallone’s background, and they’d assured her he didn’t have a criminal record. Hank Mallone was exactly what he appeared to be, she told herself. But she wasn’t sure that was comforting.

Hank stood at the bottom of the porch stairs for a moment, letting the rain wash over him, removing the larger chunks of mud. He stepped under the protection of the porch roof, wiped the water from his face, and shook himself like a dog. He looked through the screen door at Maggie. Not a terrific homecoming, he thought. Her eyes were large, her lips pinched tightly together. He couldn’t blame her if she was suddenly frightened and having second thoughts. He probably looked like some deranged yahoo.

“Don’t worry,” he said. “I’m not as stupid as I look. I couldn’t possibly be.”

“I’m not worried,” she said, trying not to let her voice waiver. “I’m really very brave. One time I picked up a snake with a stick.”

He felt a smile begin to spread to his face. Damned if she wasn’t cute when she was trying to be brave.

“This is different,” he said, waggling his eyebrows. “This is man-woman stuff. You’re probably a little worried about being alone out here with such a smooth guy.”

Maggie giggled. Ordinarily she wasn’t the sort of person who giggled, but it gurgled from her throat in a rush of relief and gratitude. “Thanks. I guess I needed reassuring.”

His gaze inadvertently dropped to her wet shirt, perfectly plastered to high, round breasts, and a pained look came over his face. Now if only he could reassure himself he wasn’t a sex-starved pervert.

Because that’s how he was feeling. He had mud in his ears, his briefs were waterlogged, and his shoes squished when he moved. Only a total degenerate could get aroused under those conditions, he told himself. And it wasn’t just her shirt that was doing it. It was the way her eyelashes looked all spiky when they were wet, and the way the rain had brought out the scent of her shampoo.

“This is awkward,” he said. “This is the first time I’ve ever pretended to be married.”

He was so close, she could feel his body heat steaming off his rain-drenched clothes, and his nearness had the same effect on her as a belt of bourbon on an empty stomach. Fire roiled through her.

She took a step backward, and gave herself silent warning that she wasn’t an impressionable teenager. Modern, intelligent women did not crumple into a heap of slavering goop just because an attractive man invaded their body space, she told herself. She gave his hand a motherly pat and made an effort to bring the moment back into its proper perspective.

“It’s not so serious. It’s a bogus marriage. It’s temporary. I’ll only be here for six months.”

“Oh yeah? What if you get attached to me? Horatio was only supposed to be temporary. Big Irma asked me if I would take him for a few days, until she found a home for him. That was three years ago.” He fondled the dog’s satiny black head.

“Now he’s crazy about me. I can’t get rid of him. He follows me everywhere.”

He leaned a little closer to her, and the corners of his mouth tipped up into a smile. “He’d do anything to get his ear scratched. Anything! That could happen to you, you know.”

The man made a fast recovery, Maggie thought. One minute he was on his back in the mud, and the next minute he was teasing her.

“I’ll try to control myself,” Maggie said. “If I get a sudden, overwhelming urge to have you scratch behind my ears, I’ll lock myself in my room.”

Brave words coming from a woman who was already more than a little attracted to Hank Mallone. Brave words coming from a woman who was having a hard time controlling her heartbeat because Mallone had moved a step closer and smiled at her.

She stood absolutely still, wondering if he was going to kiss her. Six months could be a long time if the relationship grew uncomfortable. And his track record wasn’t encouraging. His past was littered with discarded female bodies. Her thoughts were interrupted by a loud droning noise drifting through the open door.

Horatio’s ears perked up, and Hank turned to look outside. “Sounds like a car.”

“Doesn’t sound like any car I’ve ever heard,” Maggie said.

The sound was low and throaty-a powerful motor guzzling gas through double carburetors, its life’s breath resonating through a thirty-year-old exhaust system. It was a 1957 Cadillac, and it eased to a stop behind Hank’s pickup.

“Looks like a little old lady,” Maggie said.

Hank grinned at the Cadillac and the gray-haired woman behind the wheel. “That’s no lady. That’s my new house keeper. That’s Elsie Hawkins.”

The woman jumped from the Cadillac into ankle-deep water. Her exclamation carried to the house, and Maggie burst out laughing. “You’re right. She’s no lady.”

Elsie held an umbrella in one hand and a sack of groceries clutched to her chest. “Never fails,” she said. “Just when you haven’t got a crust of bread in the house, it decides to rain cats and dogs.” She looked at Hank and shook her head. “You look awful. You look like you rolled in the cow pasture.”

“A small mishap,” Hank said. “This is Maggie Toone. I’ve hired her to be my wife.”

Elsie made a disgusted sound. “Dumbest idea I ever heard of.”

Hank unlaced his running shoes. “I agree, but I need that bank loan.”

“I’m telling you there’s more here than meets the eye,” Elsie said. “Anybody can see you got a good business going. There’s something fishy about your bank.”

“They’re just cautious.” He peeled his socks from his feet and took the bag from Elsie. “I haven’t led an exemplary life by Skogen standards.”

“Don’t sound so bad to me,” Elsie said, following him into the kitchen. “It isn’t like you’ve spent the last five years holding up convenience stores.”

The kitchen was large and old-fashioned looking with oak cupboards and a big claw-footed table dead center. The appliances seemed adequate, but certainly not new. The room had a nice lived-in feeling, and Maggie could imagine generations of Mallones eating at the big round table. It was a kitchen that provoked images of little boys snitching cupcakes, and mothers and grandmothers working side by side to prepare holiday feasts.

“I got potato salad and cold fried chicken in the refrigerator,” Elsie said. “You two can help yourselves. I got to get out of these wet shoes.”

“So,” Hank said to Maggie, “fried chicken or a hot shower and dry clothes?”

“No contest. I’m freezing. A hot shower sounds wonderful.”

“I’ll give you a quick tour en route to your room. Downstairs we have living room, dining room, powder room, kitchen. An addition has been added on to the original house. It was built as an in-law apartment when my Grandmother Sheridan came to live here after Grandfather Sheridan died. I’ve given it over to Elsie.”

Hank skirted around the puddles in the foyer and led the way upstairs. “There are four bedrooms up here. I’m in the master, and I’ve converted another into an office. That leaves two bedrooms for you. If you like, we can remove one of the beds and install a desk for your computer.”

He motioned her into the larger of the two rooms. Their gazes met and held, and he felt his toes curling. Maggie had an energy that was refreshing. She was bright and funny and forgiving. Thank goodness for the forgiving part. He suspected in the next six months he was going to do a lot of things that needed forgiving.

“The bathroom’s down the hall. Let me know if you need any help.”

And you’d better lock the door, he thought, because he badly wanted to soap her back. He wanted to get her warm and relaxed and content.

Then he scolded himself. This was a bogus marriage. Fake bridegrooms don’t get bathtub privileges. And decent men don’t take advantage of women employees. The only question left to resolve was the extent of his decency. Ordinarily he liked to think of himself as an honorable person, but at the present moment he felt desperate enough to sacrifice a few principles.

“Help? What kind of help?” Maggie’s stomach fluttered at the thought of all the possibilities.

He recognized the brief flash of panic that passed over her face. Great going, Mallone, he thought, you’ve succeeded in scaring her again. Nothing to be proud of, he admitted. He stuffed his hands into wet pockets and tried to make amends. “Extra towels, shampoo.”

“Oh yeah. Thanks.” Lord, what was wrong with her. She was far from naive, but she also wasn’t the sort of woman who ordinarily saw innuendo everywhere. She preferred to take life at face value. It was much less complicated that way. Today she seemed to be reading sexual overtures into every move Hank Mallone made. It was because he excited her, she decided. Virility fairly spilled out of him. Even in his wet, bedraggled state he was sex incarnate.

He backed out of her room, feeling like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar, knowing he had a silly, embarrassed smile plastered across his mouth. “I’ll get your suitcases from the back of the truck,” he said. “I’ll put them in your room.”

Elsie’s voice carried up from the foyer. “Well, what the devil is this? For goodness sakes, it’s a cat. What are you doing locked up in this cage? Looks to me like somebody forgot to let you out.”

Hank wheeled around at the sound of the latch being released. “Elsie, don’t let the cat out while Horatio’s in the house!”

“Don’t Horatio like cats?” Elsie called up the stairs.

“I don’t know!”

“Too late,” Elsie said. “The cat’s already out, and it don’t look too happy about things.”

There was a loud woof, followed by the sound of dog toenails looking for traction on the kitchen floor.

“Fluffy!” Maggie shouted, pushing past Hank to get to the stairs. “Poor Fluffy!”

The cat raced through the living room, into the dining room, and up the summer sheers on the bay window. It clung there with eyes as big as saucers, its tail bristled out like a bottle brush.

Hank, Maggie, and Horatio all reached the cat at the same time. Horatio took a snap at the tail. The cat hissed at the dog, catapulted itself onto Hank’s chest and dug in.

“Yeow! Damn,” Hank yelled. “Somebody do something!”

“It’s the dog,” Maggie said, trying to get between Hank and Horatio. “Fluffy’s afraid of your dog.”

Elsie snatched a piece of fried chicken from the refrigerator and threw it at Horatio. The dog thought about it for half a second and abandoned the cat for the chicken leg.

“Just look at this kitchen floor,” Elsie said. “I just waxed it, and now it’s full of scratch marks. I swear sometimes it doesn’t pay to put yourself out.”

Maggie was whispering soothing words to Fluffy, as one by one she pried the cat’s claws out of Hank’s chest. “I’m really sorry,” she said to Hank. “Fluffy’s never done anything like this before.”

“It’s had rabies shots, right?”

“Of course. She’s had all her shots. I take good care of Fluffy.” She removed the last claw and cuddled the cat. “I thought you said Horatio doesn’t chase cats.”

“I said I didn’t know about him chasing any cats. Besides, Fluffy probably provoked him.” Hank unbuttoned his shirt to examine the claw marks in his chest. “You ever check that cat’s lineage? You ever find the name Cujo on the family tree?”

“Cujo was a dog.”

“Technicality.”

Maggie looked at the red welts rising over his hard, smooth muscles and felt a wave of nausea pass through her. His beautiful chest looked like a dart board, and it was her fault. She’d forgotten all about Fluffy, sitting not so patiently in the cat carrier. If she’d remembered to take Fluffy upstairs with her, this never would have happened. “Does it hurt?”

“Terribly. It’s a good thing I’m so big and strong and brave.”

“I’ll keep Fluffy in my room for a couple days until she acclimates.”

An hour later Maggie was sitting in the kitchen making her way through a mound of potato salad when Hank sauntered in fresh from his shower.

“How’s your chest?”

“Good as new.”

“I don’t believe you.”

He grinned at her. “Would you believe almost as good as new?” He took a plate of chicken from the refrigerator and dropped into a chair. “The rain is letting up.”

“I hope it doesn’t stop entirely. I love to fall asleep to the sound of rain on the roof.”

“I like it best when it snows,” he said. “The master bedroom is in the northeast corner and takes the brunt of the winter storms. When there’s a blizzard, the wind drives the snow against the window with a tick, tick, tick sound. I always lie there and feel like a kid again, knowing the snow is piling up, school will be closed, and I’ll be able to go out sledding all the next day.”