She's No Angel

To Bruce. Just Bruce.

I’m so glad you like that I’m no angel.

PROLOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

EPILOGUE

OF ALL THE PLEASURES in the life of Mortimer Potts, he’d have to call being the patriarch of a small Pennsylvania town among the finest. In the single year that he’d been living in Trouble, having purchased the bulk of it to save it from bankruptcy, he’d watched the place emerge from its cloak of depression the way a pretty flower might pop out amid a field of weeds and scrub. Not fully in bloom yet, it merely offered a hint at the color curled within its tightly wound petals. Observing it blossom had become his favorite pastime.

But the town wasn’t his greatest pleasure. It couldn’t compare, say, to spending time with his family—his grandsons and new granddaughter-in-law. Or having an eighty-one-year-old body that could perform all its necessary functions without benefit of odious amounts of fiber or Viagra. At least, most of the time. There had been that one occasion with the Feeney sisters when he’d discovered what the hoopla over that little blue pill was all about. It was a wonder his heart had survived the unexpected adventure. Still, watching the town emerge from its sleep was infinitely better than needing the obituaries to see who he’d outlived.

“I heard that sigh,” a disapproving voice said, the clipped British accent unaltered by decades of life in the U.S. “You’re thinking of those wretched sisters again, aren’t you? Either that or the time we rescued the harem in forty-six.”

Mortimer smiled in reminiscence. “A noble adventure.”

Roderick, his manservant—and best friend—sniffed, the same supercilious sound of disapproval he’d made since the day they’d met. “I doubt the sheikh would have been so quick with his golden reward if he knew how many of his wives thanked you personally.”

Ahh, yes. He did enjoy being thanked.

His fond memories quickly faded, Roderick’s words suddenly making him feel very old. Gone were his journeys to other continents, where he and his majordomo had been freewheeling adventurers. Or even, in his later years, where they’d been freewheeling parents, the two of them raising Mortimer’s grandsons.

Having lived life as a citizen of the world, he’d seen no reason to bring the boys up any other way. So while other youngsters their age studied faraway places by reading about them in textbooks in stuffy schoolrooms, his grandsons were visiting those spots. South America. Africa. From sampans in Shanghai to digs of ruins in Greece, Mortimer and Roderick had taught the boys not merely how to think, but how to live.

Now, however, there were no more adventures. No more trips to other continents. If he were foolish enough to get on a horse today, he’d be more likely to break a hip than to win a race across the desert.

“Is everything prepared for Michael’s arrival?”

Roderick nodded. “Right down to his favorite dish.” His brow scrunching in disgust, he added, “Chili. How very—”

“Don’t tell me, let me guess,” Mortimer replied, his tone dry. “Pedestrian?” It was one of Roderick’s favorite words.

“I was going to say uninspiring.”

“No, you weren’t.”

“You can’t read my mind, Mortimer.”

Chuckling, Mortimer said, “I know you well enough to know how it must have pained you to shop for canned kidney beans.”

Rod laid one hand on Mortimer’s broad, oak desk and leaned over, as if exhausted. “You’ve no idea. It is impossible to purchase fresh chili peppers, or even cumin, in this town. I had to settle for a few of those dried-up, yellow envelopes full of mystery spice.” He sounded as disgruntled as if he’d been forced to substitute Chicken of the Sea for beluga.

“How very pedestrian,” Mortimer murmured, purposely gazing at his paper, though he saw Roderick puff up like a porcupine out of the corner of his eye.