Rachel Madison's cell phone rang just as she parked her small SUV in the driveway of Mark Thomas's house in an upscale neighborhood outside Atlanta, Georgia. She glanced at the caller ID screen without enthusiasm. She wouldn't mind so much if the call were about business, but she doubted that she would be that lucky.
Recognizing the incoming number, she knew that luck was not on her side this time. "Hi, Mother," she said, holding the little phone to her ear.
"Rachel, you absolutely have to talk to your sister. She won't listen to a word from me."
"I'll talk to her," Rachel promised without even bothering to ask what she was supposed to say. "But I'm just about to meet with a client, so this is going to have to wait until later, okay?"
"First let me tell you what she said."
"I'll call you after my meeting and you can tell me all about it. But I really have to focus on my client now."
Her mother sighed heavily. "All right. I suppose you should concentrate on your work. That's more important right now."
Even though her mother couldn't see her, Rachel resisted an impulse to roll her eyes. "You know I don't consider work more important than family. It's just that I have an appointment."
"I'll let you go, then. Call me when you're finished, okay?"
"I will."
Closing the phone with relief, Rachel groaned when it buzzed again before she could even open her car door. This call, too, was from a number she recognized. "Hi, sis. Look, I've got a meeting—"
Typically, Dani didn't give her a chance to finish the sentence. "You have got to talk to Mother, Rach. She's gone too far this time. You have to tell her—"
"I'll talk to her," Rachel broke in rashly. "But I have to meet with a client, okay? He's expecting me right now."
"But—"
"I've got to go. I'll call you as soon as I'm free."
She hung up while her sister was still sputtering. Setting her cell phone to vibrate rather than ring, so that it wouldn't interrupt her meeting if it buzzed again—which it undoubtedly would—she reached into the backseat for the samples and drawings she had brought with her.
She always looked forward to presenting her ideas to her clients, but she had to admit that this meeting was especially exciting. Dr. Mark Thomas wasn't just any client. He was special. Attractive. Amusing. Intelligent. And the first client who had ever convinced her to mix business with pleasure and go out with him for an evening that had nothing to do with decorating.
It had been the most successful date she'd had in—well, in longer than she wanted to admit. No awkwardness, no stilted conversation, no discreet checking of watches, just a few hours of pleasant companionship. With a healthy dose of mutual attraction mixed in.
He'd been a perfect gentleman, leaving her at her door with a light kiss and an assurance that he would like to repeat the experience soon. She had gone to sleep that night replaying that brief, tantalizing kiss and fantasizing about a possible time when an evening together wouldn't end on her doorstep.
The outside of his house was quite nice, if a bit cookie-cutter, she mused, juggling her load on the walkway to his front door. A redbrick Georgian, its two-story center section was balanced by one-and-a-half story wings on either side. Each wing sported two white-fronted dormer windows. Three brick chimneys jutted up from the shingled roof, one on either side of the central section, the other at the end of the left wing.
Multipaned windows were arranged with perfect symmetry on either side of the house. In typical Georgian fashion, the paneled front door was centered in the middle section, the front porch covered by a triangular portico supported by four white pilasters. Four brick steps led up the porch. A row of shining, leaded-glass panes served as a transom above the white door, spilling more light into the foyer.
It wasn't a particularly large house by modern standards, topping out at just over four thousand square feet, but like the other similar size and style houses in the neighborhood, it proclaimed its owner as a successful young professional. Because she knew he had recently been made a partner in a thriving family-practice clinic, she doubted that Mark would have any trouble paying her fee.
Pausing at the door to shift the items she was holding and press the doorbell, she took a moment to reflect on how refreshingly well-adjusted Mark seemed to be. Educated, gainfully employed, apparently happy with his life, despite his lack of family. Perhaps happy because of that fact, she added wryly, though she didn't really believe that.
Such a welcome change from the string of users and losers that had made up her dating pool for the past three years, ever since her divorce from a needy, neurotic man who still hadn't completely accepted that she was no longer available to solve all his problems for him. She supposed she couldn't blame her ex for thinking of her in that light. Everyone else in her life certainly did, she thought with a glare down at her cell phone.
The door opened in response to her buzz. Mark stood in the doorway, blinking at her with an uncharacteristic frown.
She saw immediately that something wasn't quite right. He looked…disheveled, she decided. His typically neat brown hair was rumpled and there were shadows beneath his usually smiling green eyes. His old T-shirt and jeans had seen better days, a striking contrast to the impeccable, professional-casual clothing he had worn for their other meetings.
Judging from his expression, she would be willing to bet that he'd forgotten about this appointment. Which wasn't at all like the Mark Thomas she had come to know in the few weeks since she had first met him.
"Rachel," he said, almost as if it had taken him a moment to recognize her. "What…oh, damn. We had a meeting today."
So he had forgotten. She shifted the portfolio beneath her arm. "If this is a bad time, we can always reschedule."
"No. No, come in. I…" He pushed a hand through his hair, then shook his head impatiently. "I'm sorry. I'm afraid I'm a little distracted today."
She wasn't going to ask. Something had obviously happened to disturb him, but whatever it was, it was none of her business. Despite their one dinner date, he was a client, and she had no intention of getting involved in his problems. The very last thing she needed in her life was someone else's troubles, she assured herself firmly.
He closed the front door behind her and motioned her toward the nearly empty gathering room. "I had some news yesterday that's left me pretty shaken," he admitted. "I'm afraid I forgot about our meeting."
She absolutely was not going to ask. She paused at the top of the three steps that led down into the room. "We can always meet another time. Why don't you call me when you're ready to reschedule?"
"No, this is as good a time as any. Actually, I could use the distraction," he admitted, ushering her down into the room. "Can I get you anything to drink before we start? I have sodas or I could make some coffee."
"A glass of water sounds good." She wasn't really thirsty, but she thought fetching the water would give him a chance to pull himself together a bit, mentally prepare himself for the meeting that had slipped his mind.
"Okay. Make yourself comfortable, and I'll be right back." And then he looked around the sparsely furnished room and gave her a faint, wry smile. "Well, as comfortable as you can get, anyway."
"That's why I'm here," she reminded him brightly. "To help make your home comfortable for you and your visitors."
Still looking distracted, he nodded and headed for the kitchen.
Rachel spent the brief time alone setting up her portable easel, arranging the samples she had brought on the floor and opening her portfolio, all the while lecturing herself about how important it was for her to keep this meeting on a professional basis.
This was business, she reminded herself. For today, she was the hired decorator and Mark was her boss and client. The budding friendship—with potential for more—that had been developing between them was on hold for the afternoon. Maybe indefinitely, depending on how the next hour or so proceeded. All she wanted now was to put this meeting behind them so she could get to work and he could deal with whatever had been troubling him when she'd arrived.
He'd said he received some disturbing news. Had someone he cared about passed away? Was he in some kind of trouble?
She'd heard that doctors were always worried about being sued by disgruntled patients. She hoped Mark wasn't having to deal with a nuisance lawsuit.
None of her concern if he was, she reminded herself again.
He had seemed so happy when they'd gone out to dinner last week. Excited about his new partnership in a family clinic where he would begin practicing after taking a couple weeks off to get settled in his home. Elated to have purchased his first house, and looking forward to having her decorate it to suit his tastes and needs. Maybe even intrigued by the chemistry that had sparked between them from the start, as she had been.
He'd told her he was pretty much on his own in life. Raised by a single mother who had died several years ago, he claimed to have no other surviving family, only a network of good friends for emotional support. Despite her frequent frustration with her own ever-present and often-demanding family, she had found it rather sad that Mark had none of his own.
As exasperated as she became with them, she dearly loved her mother, siblings, aunts, uncles and cousins. She knew she could go to them in times of trouble, though it was more often the other way around. For some reason, everyone seemed to turn to her whenever they needed anything—and somehow she usually figured out a way to help.
She had a real problem saying certain phrases. Like, "Sorry, I can't." Or, "Ask someone else this time." Or just plain, "No." After many years of self-examination, she had come to the conclusion that she'd been born with a "backbone deficiency."
Which was why she was not going to get involved this time, she vowed. As alone ...
