Properties of Love

Patience was never Michael’s forte. But watching a beautiful woman work on his land deed documents certainly made the task more bearable. When his phone vibrated in his pocket, he almost growled in frustration at the interruption until he saw the name of his friend on the caller ID.

Turning his back to the sexy woman, Michael leaned on the well-worn counter, phone held to his ear, saying, “They have no idea what’s happening in their neighborhood. I’ve been snapping up these properties at one-tenth of the value I’ll have by this time next year.” Michael chuckled at his personal coup, once again lining his ultra-wealthy pockets with unsuspecting people’s properties. He didn’t see the shabby office around him; instead, he focused on the plans for the construction of a massive mall complex.

His careful research and donations in the right places allowed him the knowledge to always show up in the right place at the right time. He let people believe in his incredible luck, but he knew all of the hours of reading and listening that went into his particular kind of success. So much rode on him making a name for himself.

After years of working under his father’s unrelenting scrutiny, he broke away from the family business to venture out on his own. Wanting more than anything to prove his worth to his father, he had built his real estate empire on basic yet sometimes questionable practices, never actually crossing the line into anything illegal.

Nobody, not even his father, could outsmart him when it came to strategizing and maximizing profits from a property transaction. Especially those foolish people who thought they had an advantage over him simply because he looked young for his twenty-seven years. He let them think what they would; no amount of talking would convince them otherwise. But they learned. When Michael walked away with contracts they thought impossible; he never looked back, and he never gloated. It wasn’t his style.

He’d learned how to be savvy through the school of hard knocks. Not that he’d ever had to scrounge for anything because his father’s billion-dollar investment company had seen him going to the best schools. But money hadn’t bought a happy family. His parents had proven that point over and over until it drove him from their home and into his grandmother’s.

The tantalizing scent of vanilla reached his nostrils just before the familiar sound of a thick manila envelope slapped down on the countertop behind him. Ending his call abruptly, he turned slowly, a slick smile curving up one side of his mouth since he knew who’d be standing there, her perfume giving her away.

Jocelyn.

His gaze hastily raked over her thin form, appreciating her shoulder-length blonde hair, which framed her beautiful, brown doe eyes. With genuine gratitude at odds with his hungry gaze, he said, “Thanks, Josie. I appreciate the speedy service, as always.”

“It’s Jocelyn, Mr. Cavanaugh, but whatever.”

Michael’s amusement grew as the beautiful woman turned her sexy little body smartly on the low heel of her dressy pump. He took another precious moment to admire her posterior as she stomped away from where he stood. He loved riling her; she made it so easy.

Although, he wondered if he should try being nicer to her and maybe ask her out someday soon. After his last girlfriend didn’t work out a couple of months ago, he had kept to himself to focus on more important pursuits. Yet, just the thought of her full lips pressing up against his caused him to get even more ideas. Yes, he’d have to start working on softening up the prickly little Jocelyn.

Picking up the hefty packet, he knew Jocelyn would have everything in order. Her thoroughness impressed him more than she would ever know, and it also became the reason he almost exclusively used this shabby, old title company for his business. He could not afford loose ends, nor could he tolerate the lengthy delays he had experienced before. No, any delay could cause a deal to fall through, and that he would not accept. Ever.

With documents tucked safely under his arm and a plan brewing in his head on how to win over Josie, Michael strode confidently out of the busy office and into the sultry heat of the Georgian sun. He didn’t take in any of the scenery around him, his mind too busy on business to take notice of the flowering hibiscus directly in front of his car. If someone had asked him to describe his surroundings, he would have simply stared at them as if they’d lost their mind. He didn’t have time for scenery; he had business to do.

No amount of heat would cause him to loosen his tie; he had a reputation to uphold as a cool businessman, after all. Besides, the walk to his Mercedes AMG was blissfully short as he had managed by a stroke of luck to snag the one space near the entrance. Using his remote to unlock the door, he dropped into his vehicle’s plush seat, which instantly heated him even more from the heat trapped in the dark leather.

Despite having left the window cracked open, the car’s interior must have registered well over a hundred and fifty degrees. He refused to let his thoughts dwell on the heat, instead keeping his next task in mind.

He tossed the paperwork into the passenger seat as he started the engine in one fluid motion. Immediately, the vents began spewing hot air into his face, quickly replaced by the mercifully cooler air as the AC kicked in. Satisfied, Michael barely glanced backward before pulling out of his parking space.

Michael sped out of the parking lot with his radio blaring his favorite tunes, squeezing his car into a space between vehicles almost too small to accommodate. Still, he ignored the honking horn of the driver behind him. He still had places to get to this evening, and even crazy drivers wouldn’t prevent him from keeping his promises.

With five minutes to spare, he pulled into the parking space reserved for him. As the most eligible bachelor in all of Georgia, he was conscious of every woman, single or married, staring at him wherever he went. Doggedly, he ignored the ogling from the staff. Those stares only served to turn his mind inward, always wanting to protect himself from getting hurt again.

He maneuvered his way through the brightly lit hallways, his mind vaguely registering the colorful paintings of unknown artists displayed proudly. Only when he came to the room, which held someone who meant more to him than anything else in his world, did he pause and take a deep, cleansing breath to prepare himself for what he would encounter. With a light tap on the six-panel wooden door, he turned the shiny, brass handle to let himself in, fully expecting to see a familiar smile greeting him.

Yet, in the place where his grandma usually held court, there sat a man he did not recognize. “Who’re you?” Michael rudely asked, pushing his way into the room to find his grandma.

His mind raced with dire predictions for his grandma’s absence, none of them comforting in the slightest. With his pulse racing faster than the winning horse at the Kentucky Derby, his eyes raked across the room in a panic. All of his grandma’s fancy dressers, coffee table, and chairs remained unmoved.

“Come sit down, Michael. Let me explain why I’m here today,” the man replied, not bothering to stand or even to introduce himself.

Already Michael did not trust the man. He detested the idea of a stranger knowing his name even though they’d never been introduced. The man seemed too self-assured, acting as if he already had an advantage, much like his father behaved toward him.

Michael hated feeling blind-sided; for as long as he could recall, he needed to have all the facts before making any negotiations. That’s exactly what this felt like: a business transaction. One he never wanted to have, not if it meant his grandma had passed.

Only a second had gone by when Michael retorted, “I’ll stand.” Sweat began to trickle uncomfortably between the tense muscles of his back. Moving the discussion to his primary concern, he demanded, “Where’s Evelyn?”

“I’m right here, Mikey. Come help me to my bed.” A frail, old woman spoke from the doorway leading into the private bathroom. She held up her hand toward him, not trying to hide the tremors which never relented as Parkinson’s disease ravaged her body faster than Michael wanted to admit.

Turning with alacrity, Michael strode the several steps to close the distance between them. Michael gently tucked his stooped grandma into his side, using his height and strength to practically pick her up. She’d lost more weight. Alarm raced through him as he realized how much easier he could feel the bones of her arm through the rich, silk fabric of her dressing robe.

Michael doted over his grandma, positioning her in the middle of the bed, gently plumping the pillows behind her small frame. She had become so frail; he feared even his touch would break her. Biting his bottom lip to keep his emotions in check, he stepped away and faced the stranger in the room. He needed to focus on this man’s business if only to keep him from even more worry.

Once Evelyn had arranged the covers just the way she liked them, she softly patted the edge of the bed. Her once strong voice barely rose above a whisper as she said, “Mikey, sit next to me and listen to what Mr. Nitro has to say.”

Mr. Nitro? What kind of a name was that? It sounded fake, as fake as the smile plastered on the man’s pudgy face as he waited patiently for Michael to follow his grandma’s instructions. “Mr. Nitro, if that’s your real name,” he muttered before asking boldly, “Why are you here?”

“Be nice, Mikey. Kevin is my attorney, and he has been for many years,” Evelyn chided, her hand fluttering up to touch Michael’s thigh.

Hating the feel of her tremors, Michael pressed his hand down over hers. His fingers curled down to envelop her diminutive hand as gently as he could. Noticing the feeble strength of her grip made him feel so helpless. All the money in the world could not fix the one person he loved the most. He nodded his agreement and shifted his gaze back to the unwanted guest.

“I’m here at your grandmother’s behest.” Kevin broke eye contact with Michael to get approval from Evelyn before continuing. Once satisfied with her nod, he added, “It seems Ms. Evelyn has received the results of her latest tests and only has about six months left to live.”

Michael felt himself tensing up with this blunt news, forcibly keeping his fingers relaxed so he wouldn’t crush his grandma’s brittle bones. He adamantly shook his head in denial but remained seated. “I don’t believe you. We’re going to have them redo the tests.”

Michael turned to his grandma, wishing she would deny the truth. When she simply stared at him with a deep sadness in her eyes, he declared, “If this place can’t take care of your needs properly, then we’ll just move you to a better facility. Money’s no object. I’ll start making phone calls right now.” He shifted backward slightly, ready to pull his phone from his front pants pocket, until his grandma’s following words stopped him.

“You’ll do nothing of the kind, Michael.”

She only used his given name when he was in trouble.

Feeling properly chastised and embarrassed at being called to task in front of a stranger, Michael nodded mutely, biting back the reply he wanted to make. “State your business, Mr. Nitro, so that I can have some private time with my grandma.” More than ever, he wanted to have these precious moments alone with the woman who had practically raised him.

“Evelyn wanted me to advise you about a change she has made in her Will,” Kevin began, leaning forward to open his briefcase and withdraw a stack of papers.

“I hardly think we should be discussing such matters when my grandma is clearly alive and well in the room. The last thing she needs is you upsetting her by drumming up more billable hours by making unnecessary house calls.” Michael’s mind raced; he could care less about the Will if it meant losing his second mother.

After finding the section he wanted to discuss in the document, Kevin resumed talking as if Michael hadn’t interrupted. He cleared his throat and began reading, “To my grandson, Michael Theodore Cavanaugh, I bequeath the family farm of 30,000 acres of land, 17 outbuildings, and the main homestead, including all of the personal items found in the home and on the property in its entirety.

“However, because this is a family farm, it is only proper that Michael inherit it with his own family, to wit, his wife and/or children of his own issue.

“If, at the time of my death, Michael is unmarried, then the land will revert to the county to be made a proper wildlife refuge held in trust for all time. All of the bank accounts associated with this property, valued as of this date at $2.78 billion dollars, will also be held in trust for the maintenance of the land as a wildlife refuge.”

As the words sank into Michael’s numb brain, he began to stir with righteous anger at the injustice of this new clause to the Will. All his life, his grandma had promised him the farm. She knew it had been the only sanctuary he’d known in his troubled childhood.

He had no intention of getting married, but he also could not let such a technicality cause the one place he called home to be turned over to strangers. “Grandma? You can’t be serious. You know how I feel about marriage.”

“Yes, Mikey. I’ve heard you mutter about the futility of it more times than I care to count. It’s time for you to set aside your hurt and pride and let someone into your heart. The right woman will make you into the man you were always meant to be.”

Her words instantly stung deep into his core. The uncertainty he’d thought he’d left behind long ago crept to the surface and left him feeling vulnerable all over again. With a tremor of fear in his voice, he asked, “Aren’t you proud of me the way I am?”

Michael felt doubly betrayed. This was not the way his beloved grandma spoke to him. Maybe her mental capacities had already been compromised by the disease eating away at her brain. Dementia was one of the final symptoms to develop in cases such as hers. As much as he hated thinking about it, he would fight this new addendum, declaring her with a diminished capacity if he had to.

“Yes, Mikey, you’ve always been the perfect grandson. And before you get any ideas that I’m getting soft in the head, I know exactly what I’m doing. I want to make sure you’re taken care of before I meet my maker. Besides, you need to start thinking about making me a great-grandma, just in case I decide to kick this Parkinson’s in the butt.” Evelyn reached over with her free hand and patted the back of Michael’s hand where he still held onto her.

More guilt piled onto him as she seemed to read his mind. What could Michael say to that? If the idea of him getting married and having children could give her incentive to live, then he’d gladly bite the bullet and give marriage a try. Unfortunately, his prior relationships had proven he had no idea how to find the perfect partner.

And with the way his last girlfriend, Angelica, had left, he felt rather reluctant even to give it another go, but he had to appease his grandma. Besides, the idea of letting the family farm get turned over to the Public Lands Division made his blood boil. Probably just what his grandma had in mind when she put in the provision.

She knew what buttons to push to get him moving, and he had to admire her underhanded tactic. Especially since she’d hinted for several years about him settling down. Now, she’d force him into it, guilt him into it, he amended as the weight of her condition fell over his mind.

“I don’t even know where to start,” Michael lamented under his breath. Shockingly enough, his grandma heard him.

“Start closest to home. You know, people you work with. Surely there’re some good girls who understand real estate. As soon as you open your eyes, you’ll start to notice how the girls look at you when you walk past. It’s time you got your head out of your bank account and started listening to your heart’s call for love.”

Embarrassment washed over him again. He knew about all the looks he garnered, but it only made him feel dirty, like they only saw his money. He didn’t want that kind of relationship again; Angelica had soured him on that kind of treatment.

It took all of Michael’s restraint to keep his eyes from rolling at her seemingly terrible advice. His heart didn’t have any problems with how he’d arranged his life. He didn’t need anyone bossing him around or demanding his time. As far as he was concerned, his life was already pretty perfect – no attachments, no distractions, and most importantly, no disappointments.

Yet his beloved grandma required he get married and start a family. He’d do anything for her, but this was monumental. Forgetting entirely about the harbinger of bad news sitting across the room from him, Michael’s mind raced through this latest task.

He decided to look at it as a business transaction. He had six months to find himself the perfect bride to make his grandma proud. Maybe it would give her the will to live even longer. Besides, Grandma never said anything about love or longevity.

 

Jocelyn knew watching the clock would only make the end of the day take forever to roll around. When five o’clock struck, she had already turned her computer off, and her purse looped over her arm. Now, she simply had to get past her boss’s office without him calling her in to ‘talk’ for the next half of an hour.

Nothing on Earth could convince her to take any interest in her boss. He obviously harbored a fascination with her bordering on unprofessional, even to the extent of sexual harassment. If she felt so inclined, she had ample cause to pursue a claim with human resources.

Yet, she knew she wouldn’t say anything. She needed this job to pay for a new car. Every spare penny got squirreled away into an account, waiting for the day she had enough to get the car she’d pined over for the past two years. A Toyota Prius. Nothing fancy, nothing to write home about, but it was affordable and economical on gas, which she desperately needed.

Ever since her parents had literally had to sell the farm, her drive out to their condominium two cities over to the west had all but bankrupted her with the fuel consumption costs. Guilt and love prevented her from ever complaining. Also, worry over her father’s health ensured she never missed a weekend visit with them.

Her mom insisted he was taking things easy, but Jocelyn believed in her core that the spare time ate at her father’s soul. He’d worked hard to maintain the family farm all of his life, waking up before the sun to get all his chores done before the scorching heat sent him scurrying for a reprieve in the shade of a tree by the creek.

No, her father definitely needed a hobby. He needed something to get his mind off how badly the real estate agent had taken advantage of their ignorance when they sold the farm. Even though Jocelyn had been in college at the time of the sale, she felt responsible for not checking in to see whether or not the price had been fair.

That one moment in time had changed all of their lives. Even now, Jocelyn could feel her rage building that her parents didn’t have the comfy retirement nest egg they had counted on. She hated how they’d been forced to live in a crappy housing complex in an iffy part of their city simply to extend their meager savings. And as for herself, she gave up her dream of becoming a vet tech to go into the business side of real estate.

Her original idea of becoming a real estate agent to help protect other old couples from getting taken advantage of certainly hadn’t panned out. After only three college courses, she realized she hated dealing with disappointing people by telling them the actual value of their place or that they’d have to spend money to get the price they wanted. Nope, that hadn’t been the path for her.

Instead, she’d gone to work for the United Title Company of the South. The old, worn building had been the last stop on her employment search. Even during her interview, she’d had a bad feeling about Mr. Bandy, who’d be her boss, but she needed the job to pay for her student loans and keep her from losing the tiny apartment she’d managed to find nearby.

This job ticked all of her financial boxes. As an added benefit, she educated herself about the properties she had to research. Research thrilled her more than she cared to admit to casual strangers since most people tended to find it terrible to contemplate and boring to discuss.

Unfortunately, her talents only seemed to help people like the ones who had swindled her parents. People like Michael Cavanaugh. She felt her lip curling in distaste, even thinking about him and his over-the-top ego.

Nearing Mr. Bandy’s door, she could hear him speaking on the phone. Taking a calculated risk, she pretended to look through her purse, keeping her face averted from the opening as she skipped past the doorway. This way, if he decided to wave at her to get her attention, she could honestly say she hadn’t seen it.

The employee door snapped shut behind her, sealing off the cold air inside, which always seemed directly aimed at wherever she sat, sinking deep into her bones until she thought she might freeze solid. The sultry heat of the lowering sun settled across her like a welcoming shawl. Drawing in a deep breath of the hot, lemon-scented air, she felt the tension melt away from her. Work always made her tense, which probably didn’t help the ulcers she started experiencing.

With a welcoming sigh of relief, not only from her escape from work but from the dreaded air-conditioning, she paused to appreciate the heat of the day beginning to thaw her ice-cold fingers. She strode across the small parking lot reserved for employees with a surreptitious glance to check her surroundings.

Her mind reveled in the stark contrasts ahead of her. The asphalt shimmered with heat, but the proud magnolia tree spread her thick branches of green leaves and huge, bright, creamy blossoms outward to shade several cars in the lot.

She could easily imagine a time when this tree stood alone in an empty field, giving a fragrant refuge to a child who could escape into a world of dreams and possibility. She’d gladly trade the mess the tree left on her beat-up, silver Honda Civic for the lovely scent and the coolness underneath.

The smile curving her lips from her fanciful imaginings slightly dimmed when she realized Mr. Bandy parked his fancy BMW beside her car. The two vehicles, side-by-side, further showed the contrast in her economic situation compared to his. Yet, she didn’t dwell on her physical possessions since this car merely allowed her more accessible transportation. It didn’t have to be pretty.

Her luck continued to hold out as the driver’s side door actually opened. At least today, she wouldn’t have to crawl across the front from the passenger’s side, which started to become a regular occurrence.

Still, the hinges protested as she cracked open the door just far enough to squeeze herself in, sarcastically thanking Mr. Bandy for parking so close to the line to force her to stretch in strange contortions to keep from hitting his car with her door.

Granted, he probably assumed she’d have to get in from the passenger side, as he often saw her do in the past, much to her intense embarrassment. If Mr. Bandy really wanted to be helpful, he should consider giving her a raise so she could get the new car sooner. Maybe, he just enjoyed watching her struggle. Or even worse, perhaps he enjoyed catching glimpses of her chest or legs should she happen to be wearing a scooped neckline or pencil skirt that day. She couldn’t dwell on that thought; it just grossed her out.

With goosebumps raised all over her arms, she luxuriated in the heated interior of her car. Slipping off her low heels, she wriggled her feet into the sneakers she used for driving and carefully laced them up. One could never be too careful while driving.

The last thing Jocelyn needed was for her pump’s heel to get caught in the hole in the floor mat just when she needed to brake or something just as dire. She’d gladly forego fashion for safety any day.

Jocelyn hoped her luck stayed strong and the car would decide to start on the first try. Strangely, it felt as though the car found out about the saved money, increasingly developing irritating issues. So far, she managed to handle them herself, like replacing the windshield wiper, which decided to fly off as she drove down the highway in the pouring rain. And she simply ignored the funny little light flickering on the panel, which didn’t mean anything to her.

The mechanics didn’t interest her; she only wanted reliable transportation. Today, Blondie, the name she gave her car almost ten years prior, decided to behave. The engine sputtered to life on the first try, and hot air blew into her face from the vents.

Out of habit, she pushed the vent aside while rolling down the window with the old-fashioned crank—no power windows for this girl. No dreaded air-conditioning either, unless driving faster counted.

Shifting the car into reverse, she let out the clutch as quickly as ever, but the vehicle still lurched as if she were a novice driver. Ignoring Blondie’s quirks, she waited and waited at the curb, only entering the traffic flow when a kind, old lady waved her to go. Not that they got very far, very fast, in the stop-and-go traffic. Once again, she gave thanks for the short commute to her small apartment where only her cat, Meow Meow, cared if she arrived safely.

The song’s lyrics playing on the tinny-sounding radio reminded her of her mother’s not-so-subtle hints about bringing a boyfriend home for Thanksgiving, even though it was a solid six months away. No amount of talking could convince her mother that no man interested her enough to date, let alone someone she would consider letting her parents grill. She stopped bringing boys home ever since that dreaded prom night.

While she didn’t plan to spend the rest of her life alone, she also wouldn’t lower her standards just for the sake of having some guy hanging around. Besides, she didn’t need someone else to take care of; her cat’s medical issues took enough of her free time.

Groaning with dismay, she realized her commute time had just doubled when she remembered she needed to stop by Piggly Wiggly’s to get more cat food before going home. Although Meow Meow didn’t seem to mind the can of tuna she got the night before, Jocelyn hated the fishy breath wafting across her face all night long as she shared her pillow. Besides, the man she brought home would be allergic to her favorite feline with her luck.

Another reason she didn’t need a man; she liked sharing her bed with the cat. At least the cat didn’t snore; well, she did start the terrible habit of clawing her hair in the morning and licking her scalp to wake her up at alarmingly early times. No man needed to see her morning hair literally looking like something the cat dragged in.

Okay, so maybe the cat wasn’t that perfect a roommate. But at least she didn’t demand too much of her time. In fact, she often needed to search for the feline, usually found under the bed, while she waited for her to come home. At least the cat kept the dust bunnies under control as they provided endless hours of entertainment.

Fine, she admitted it to herself; her life was rather pathetic. She didn’t want to become the crazy cat lady, only leaving the house to buy cat food and litter. In fact, she made sure never to have any pet hair on her clothing because that seemed like another inevitable symptom of becoming a hermit.

She didn’t have the time or inclination to find someone who would fit into her life. Just hearing the horror stories of people using online dating sites or those other dreaded dating apps made her skin crawl. No, she didn’t want to be the next news headline story about another girl gone missing after using such drastic measures to find the perfect man who probably didn’t exist. He remained the veritable unicorn.

Maybe she’d take up going to church again. Now that she had settled into her apartment, she had the time. For several days, this thought kept coming back to her. Yesterday, she even did a quick search online to get the sermon schedules. She simply needed to get herself together enough on the weekend actually to want to leave the house.

The traffic light turned green in front of her. As if on autopilot, she pressed the gas pedal, blindly following the car ahead of her into the intersection. With the driveway for the grocery store in sight, she never saw the car pull away from the crossroad to turn into her lane.

Sounds of metal screeching, glass shattering, and plastic popping seemed to fill her mind as the impact jarred her into a strange sense of awareness. Time seemed to crawl into slow motion as her car moved into the next lane with the crash force. Snippets of clarity impressed her mind, like the surprised expressions on the passengers’ faces in the car next to her just before their vehicles collided.

Only seconds passed, but the silence that followed the onslaught of noise seemed out of place. Strangely enough, her mind focused on the song that started playing from her car’s radio right after all went still; it was a new song by Becky Easton about a red, high-heeled shoe being left behind. Somehow, that seemed fitting for this scenario of destruction.

Looking down, her whitened knuckles clutched the steering wheel as if her life depended on that continued contact. Maybe it did. Hot tears rolling down her cheeks triggered the trembling, which crawled through her whole body. When did she start crying? She allowed her body to have the minor release it seemed so desperate to take.

With fresh adrenaline coursing through her veins, she felt an urgent need to get moving, to get out of her car, if only to check on the other people involved. After taking quick stock of herself, she pried one hand away from the useless steering wheel to pull on the door latch.

A surge of panic percolated through her as the door remained unmovable. Pushing harder, getting her shoulder into the movement to add more force, she stared stupidly down at her hand to make sure she was doing it right. Nothing. The door wouldn’t budge.

A tapping sounded on the passenger window, which somehow managed to stay intact, even though the back one blew out. Her gaze cut across the car’s interior to see a man staring back at her with fear in his eyes. She faintly heard him ask, “Are you okay?”

Nodding, she replied, “My door won’t open.”

The man opened the passenger door without any difficulty. Leaning in, he spoke slowly, acting as if she were a frightened animal that needed to be coaxed to cooperate. “Of course, it won’t open; there’s a car pinning it shut. Come across this way, Jocelyn. I’ll help you.”

Dumbly, she twisted to look back to the door, verifying the man’s assessment of the jam. How did she miss seeing the other car? This whole situation felt like a dream, where things simply appeared out of thin air.

She tried to scoot across the center console – a task she performed more times than any other adult, but something still immobilized her. “I can’t move!” she cried out, panic setting in.

“It’s okay; you need to unfasten your seatbelt first.” Without invitation, he reached across the passenger seat to push the little release button on the belt. “Let me help you.”

Instantly, Jocelyn felt stupid. Why couldn’t she keep herself together? With another burst of adrenaline, she whipped the belt off her shoulder, grabbed her purse from the floorboard although she had left it in the passenger seat, and crawled across the cabin in the most unladylike fashion. As promised, the man’s hand remained steady as he held onto hers while she found her footing on the blessedly solid pavement.

The man shifted her to the side before diving back into her car. She stared uncomprehendingly but didn’t say anything as she stood there like a Grecian statue, pale and stiff. Another picture perfectly formed in her mind as she inappropriately ogled his posterior while he rummaged inside her vehicle.

“You don’t want to forget these,” he said as he straightened up, holding out her ring of keys.

“Oh, thank you!” Jocelyn gushed, automatically holding out her hand. Her gaze traveled up from his hand to his well-tailored suit covering his beautifully trim, muscular chest, finally coming to rest squarely on the face of the man who regularly drove her insane. “Michael Cavanaugh? What are you doing here?”

With a grim smile, he pointed behind Jocelyn and said, “Exhibit A.”

Jocelyn turned her head to see his once-immaculate car in a crumpled heap beside hers. Turning back to him, she demanded, “You did this?”