TAME AN OLDER MAN Page 3

  Men ought to be standing in line to marry her, Phoebe thought, but so far her and Elise's attempts to find Daisy a suitable mate had met with dismal failure—despite the best of advice from author Jane Jasmine.

  "There ought to be some good candidates here tonight," Phoebe said, grabbing a tortilla chip off the buffet table as they passed. "With all of Elise's siblings coming—"

  "They're all girls. Except one, but I don't think he'll be here."

  "Oh, right, the oldest one, the lawyer. What's his name?"

  "I forget," Daisy said airily. "I didn't meet him that time he came over to Elise's, remember? I was hiding in her bedroom with curlers and green stuff all over my face."

  At the mention of the green mask, all Phoebe could think about was her own earlier humiliation.

  "Hey, what about Wyatt Madison?" Daisy asked, as if she'd just read Phoebe's mind. "Isn't he supposed to be here?"

  Phoebe's heart fluttered for half a second, then calmed. "Oh, I meant to tell you. He's not coming."

  "Darn," Daisy said, though she sounded as if she really didn't care much. "I'm dying to know what he's like. He couldn't possibly be the paragon his grandparents make him out to be."

  "He's not," Phoebe said.

  Daisy's delicate eyebrows arched. "Oh, really? Do tell—you're holding out, girlfriend."

  "I just met him tonight. He's old."

  "Old?" Daisy looked puzzled. "How old could he be? He has grandparents."

  "He's at least … thirty-eight. And he's got gray hair."

  "Really? I like gray hair. Well, I mean, on some men it looks distinguished."

  Phoebe wouldn't have used the word distinguished to describe Wyatt His grandfather Rolland, maybe. Wyatt would probably look like Rolland someday. But currently, he was more dangerous-looking than distinguished.

  "So what happened? How'd you meet him?"

  Phoebe quickly told Daisy the horror story.

  Daisy laughed until tears roiled down her pink cheeks. "That green mask is cursed! Well, at least I don't have to worry about competition from you! He's probably written you right off his list as Avocado Woman with Plumbing Problems."

  Phoebe was afraid Daisy was right. "As if. I'm not looking, you know."

  "Like that matters. Every guy you meet falls all over you. I mean, what guy doesn't fantasize about dating a movie star?"

  "One lousy part in a really bad soap opera doesn't make me a movie star," Phoebe said. "Oh, there's Bill. I have to tell him about my washer hose."

  "I'm heading for the margarita machine. You want one?"

  Phoebe nodded. After her plumbing ordeal, she could use a dozen, but she'd settle for one.

  "Well, hey there, Phoebe," Bill White said. He sat at a small table, working on a plate full of fajitas. "You're looking beautiful, as always."

  "Thank you," Phoebe said automatically. "Where were you an hour ago? I was in desperate need."

  Bill shot a quick, guilty look toward Frannie, who sat at the same table but pretended not to pay attention to him. "Oh, just around. What's the problem?"

  "I'll tell you about it tomorrow," Phoebe said, realizing that Bill, who had always been available to fix any problem, had probably for once in his life turned off his beeper because he'd been spending time with Frannie. Bill and Frannie had been making cow eyes at each other for years, both of them too shy to do anything about their mutual crush. But Elise had set them up on a date a few weeks ago, and despite a shaky start, now they were something of an item.

  Cupid had been busy, Phoebe mused as she left them to find Elise and James. Now, if only he'd shoot Daisy with one of his little arrows.

  Phoebe spent the next few minutes meeting some of James's friends and family, including his jovial housekeeper, MaryBelle, whom he clearly adored like a favorite aunt.

  "You look so familiar," MaryBelle had said at once. "Wait, I, oh, I know! Vanessa Vance! You look exactly like that woman on 'Skin Deep'!"

  "That was me," Phoebe admitted. By now she was used to being recognized, though it happened less and less often as "Skin Deep" faded from the public memory.

  At least MaryBelle didn't gush. "I was really mad when they killed off Vanessa," she said quietly. "You were the best one on the show. It got canceled right after you left."

  Phoebe smiled, no longer bitter about the experience.

  "Why didn't you get on another show?" Marybelle asked innocently. "Or in the movies? You were good enough."

  "I tried," Phoebe said. She'd gone on lots of auditions, but she never got cast in anything except bit parts and a vacuum cleaner commercial. "I guess my heart just wasn't in it anymore. I'm glad to be out of Hollywood."

  MaryBelle gave her a sympathetic pat on the hand, then went on to chat with one of Elise's sisters. Elise herself slipped away from the knot of her family and joined Phoebe, who was straightening a stack of napkins and putting out more forks on the buffet table.

  "You look thirsty," Elise commented.

  "Daisy was going to bring me something, but she's disappeared."

  "Come on, I'll walk over to the bar with you," Elise said. Then she whispered, "Any sign of Mr. Mysterious yet?"

  Phoebe repeated her appalling tale yet again, as they ambled toward the far side of the courtyard where the bar had been set up.

  "So he's not coming?" Elise asked, disappointed. "How are we ever going to set him up with Daisy if he hides in his apartment like a hibernating bear?"

  "You know, I just don't think he's right for Daisy," Phoebe found herself saying. "He's a workaholic. And he's too old."

  "Too old?" Elise repeated.

  "At least thirty-eight."

  Elise laughed. "So? Daisy's thirty. What's the big deal?"

  Phoebe shrugged. "I don't know."

  "Trying to keep him for yourself, huh?" Elise teased.

  "No!" Phoebe's denial was quick and emphatic.

  Elise looked at her curiously.

  "You know I'm much too busy to even look at a man, but if I wasn't, which I am, I certainly wouldn't look at him. He works in television, and you know how I can't stand to be around—"

  Phoebe halted her tirade. Elise was grinning at her.

  * * *

  Wyatt ran down the column of numbers one more time, tapping them into his calculator, but he got yet a third different total. How could he possibly concentrate with that damn mariachi music blaring from the courtyard?

  He certainly hoped these weekend parties weren't a regular event at Mesa Blue. How could his grandparents stand it?

  Hell, he knew the answer to that question. If they weren't on vacation, they'd be down in the thick of the party, probably starting a conga line. But his grandparents didn't have to show up at a meeting Monday morning with a revised budget for "Heads Up."

  It wasn't just the music that bugged him. It was the chatter. The laughter. All those people yukking it up. Half of them probably didn't even know Elise and What's-His-Name, they just came for the free food and free drinks.

  Wyatt tried one more time to focus on his addition, but it was no use. The band's lead singer was now doing a very bad Julio Iglesias impression. Someone had to put a stop to this.

  He set down his ledger and calculator, slid into some loafers and started for his front door. He could have simply yelled off his balcony for the party-goers to keep it down, but that seemed a little déclassé, and his grandparents wouldn't be pleased if he antagonized all their neighbors.

  He would find Phoebe and discreetly request that either her so-called musicians put a sock in it, or he'd call the cops.

  As he reached for the front doorknob, he looked down at himself. The jeans and T-shirt he'd exchanged for the ones he'd gotten wet at Phoebe's were pretty disreputable. He toyed with the idea of changing—just so he wouldn't call attention to himself—but he finally decided against it. He wasn't planning on staying long enough for anyone to form an opinion about him.

  When he stepped into the courtyard, the guests were so thick he could have
stirred them with a stick. How would he ever find Phoebe in this mess? Then it occurred to him that he wouldn't recognize Phoebe, anyway, unless she happened to be wearing guacamole from the buffet.

  He searched the crowd, his gaze finally stopping on a pretty lady with dark red hair sitting alone at the end of the pool, her bare feet dangling in the water as she nursed a frothy drink.

  She happened to look up just then, catching him watching her, and she smiled warmly. Since no one else paid the slightest attention to him, Wyatt decided to ask the woman to help him find Phoebe. He walked determinedly over to her.

  "You're Wyatt, right?" she said, before he could get a word out. "Have a seat." She patted the concrete beside her.

  He hadn't intended to spend any time at the party. But the redhead looked lonely, so he joined her. "How'd you know who I am?" he asked.

  "You look just like your grandfather. Well, like he probably did forty years ago. He's a handsome man."

  "Thank you."

  "Oh, I didn't mean…" She blushed prettily. "You probably think I'm flirting with you now."

  "Would that be so terrible?"

  "No. I mean, yes, because I don't usually flirt. Phoebe sent you over here, didn't she?" the woman said miserably.

  "Actually, your smile brought me over here."

  "Now who's flirting?"

  Maybe he was. Maybe that was because the redhead put him completely at ease. Though she was undeniably pretty, with that gorgeous auburn hair, he could tell right away there wasn't a bit of chemistry between them. If they got to know each other at all, it would be as friends.

  "I'm Daisy Redford. Phoebe said you weren't coming."

  Daisy Redford! Alarm bells went off in Wyatt's head. This was the one Phoebe had been praising earlier.

  "Is Phoebe trying to set us up?" Wyatt asked point-blank.

  Daisy's eyes grew huge. She tried to sputter a denial, but she wasn't a good liar. Finally she said in a small voice, "They just wanted me to meet you, Phoebe and Elise, that is."

  "Why?"

  Daisy shrugged, looking supremely uncomfortable. "Why not?" Then she laughed. "It was a dumb idea. Setups hardly ever work. Phoebe set me up with this dentist… My friends are not going to be happy I foiled all their plans for you and me."

  "You don't look like the kind of girl who needs a setup," Wyatt said. "And that's an honest observation. I'm not flirting."

  "Nice of you to say. So what made you decide to show up after you told Phoebe you couldn't come?" Daisy asked, not sounding quite so shy. Apparently he'd put her at ease, too, now that they'd set aside any romantic potential between them.

  "I was going to complain about the noise," Wyatt admitted.

  "The band is kind of loud," Daisy agreed. "I'll come with you to talk to Phoebe, if you want." She started to pull her feet out of the pool, but Wyatt stopped her.

  "No, no, that's not necessary. I've changed my mind. I won't get any more work done tonight, and I'm here now, so I might as well enjoy myself. Where is our hostess, anyway?"

  But he saw her then—with that fall of straight blond hair, she was impossible to miss. She stood near the bar with another woman, laughing with the bartender, whom Wyatt recognized as the guy who took care of Mesa Blue's pool.

  Without a green face, she was the most enchanting creature he'd ever seen. Not at all frog-like.

  "I guess you spotted her," Daisy said, giving him a knowing look.

  * * *

  Chapter 3

  « ^ »

  Wyatt closed his mouth. He'd been gaping at Phoebe like a lovesick schoolboy worshipping the head cheerleader from afar.

  "She's pretty hard to miss," Daisy said. "I can't understand why she didn't get snapped up to star in some blockbuster movie when she was in Hollywood."

  "She's an actress?" Wyatt asked, horrified. Somehow, his grandparents had neglected to tell him that part.

  "Oh, yeah, don't you recognize her? Vanessa Vance. From 'Skin Deep.'" When Wyatt made no acknowledgment, she added, "You know, that nighttime soap a few years ago?"

  "I, um, don't usually watch soaps."

  "You didn't miss much. The show was horrible. The only thing good about it was Phoebe. Then they went and killed off her character, the ratings tanked, and it got canceled."

  "She's an actress," he repeated. He could almost feel a wall going up around him. Lord save him from wanna-be movie stars and has-been starlets.

  Phoebe had to know what he did for a living. His grandparents would have told her. So why wasn't she all over him, trying to get on TV? A little national exposure on "Heads Up" could revive a stalled acting career.

  "She's not acting now," Daisy said. "She's st—" Daisy abruptly stopped. "She does beauty makeovers at the Sunrise Spa. But if you ask me, her talents are wasted there. She's a lot smarter than that."

  The words actress and smart did not belong in the same discussion, Wyatt mused. Maybe Phoebe hadn't hit him up yet. But she would. He could only surmise that she had some more elaborate scheme for getting to him. Something that would work better than throwing cat food onto his balcony.

  * * *

  Standing near the bar chatting with Elise, Phoebe savored the last few drops of her frozen margarita. She wanted another one because it was a warm evening, but she had a lot of studying to do tomorrow and couldn't afford to wake up even slightly hung-over. Since she seldom drank alcohol, it wouldn't take much to give her a fuzzy head in the morning.

  "Can I have a cola, Jeff, please?" she asked.

  Jeff winked. "Sure thing, gorgeous. What'll you give me in return?"

  Phoebe snorted. Jeff was all of twenty-two and an inveterate flirt. But he was harmless. She suspected if she ever responded to his blatant come-ons, he'd run for the hills.

  "I guess I better get back to my hostessly duties," she said to Elise, as Jeff handed her the cola.

  "And I better find my fiancé. I worked hard enough to get him. It'd be a shame to lose him now."

  They were about to turn and head for their various destinations when a man came up behind Elise and put his hands over her eyes. "Guess who?"

  It took Phoebe a moment to realize this was Chance, Elise's brother. He'd called earlier in the week to say he couldn't come.

  "Chance! What are you doing here?" Elise turned and hugged her brother. He looked especially handsome tonight, Phoebe thought, in casual khakis and a pale green knit shirt. She adored a man who dressed well. He put Wyatt and his old T-shirt to shame.

  Then why was it her thoughts turned so frequently to how that T-shirt had molded to the planes of Wyatt's chest, and the way his faded jeans had hugged his butt?

  "My meeting got canceled," Chance said. "Hi, Phoebe. I hope it's okay that I showed up without warning."

  "No problem."

  "Hey, Elise," he said, voice lowered, "who's that gorgeous woman sitting with her feet in the pool?"

  Elise looked in the direction Chance indicated, but she saw no one. "Who?"

  Chance blinked a couple of times, as if his eyes were playing tricks on him. "She was there a minute ago. If I find her, will you introduce us?"

  Elise gave him a playful tap on the arm. "You are not allowed to hit on any woman who's a friend of mine. You'll just break her heart, and then she'll blame it on me."

  "Okay, okay! Jeez."

  Chance rubbed his arm, though Phoebe suspected Elise couldn't possibly do him any damage, even if she tried. He had pretty good muscles for a lawyer.

  "I'll make my own introductions." With a mischievous smile, he sauntered off, apparently intent on finding the object of his lust.

  Elise rolled her eyes. "He's hopeless."

  "But he's cute. Why don't we introduce him to Daisy?" Phoebe suggested.

  Elise shook her head. "He is definitely not father material. Anyway, looks like Daisy's otherwise occupied." She nodded toward the buffet table. "Phoebe, who's that she's talking to?"

  Phoebe peered at her friend, so easy to spot with that auburn hair shining i
n the light of the torches they'd set up for the party. Daisy was engaged in cozy conversation with a man. And not just any man.

  "Holy cow, that's Wyatt Madison."

  "You're kidding," Elise said. "I thought he wasn't coming."

  "He said he wasn't. What's he doing here?"

  "Enjoying himself, it looks like," Elise said. "And look at Daisy. She's laughing."

  "Holy cow."

  "What's wrong with you?" Elise said. "This is exactly what we wanted! Maybe he's the perfect one for Daisy."

  "He's too old for her," Phoebe said. "Now that I see them together, they just don't look good. You know, as a couple."

  "Phoebe!" Elise objected.

  "Maybe we shouldn't have thrust them together," Phoebe went on. "What if—"

  "We didn't 'thrust them together.' They found each other. Chill, Phoebe."

  "I think Chance would be a better bet. He's gorgeous, nice, gainfully employed—"

  "Don't even start. I love Chance with all my heart, but he's a cad in the worst sense of the word. Daisy's looking for a husband, remember? A potential father for her potential baby. The last thing she needs is a guy who thinks wife is a four-letter word."

  "It is a four-letter word."

  "You know what I mean."

  "Well, I still think he'd be better than Wyatt Madi—" Phoebe stopped mid-name, then blinked her eyes a couple of times to clear them. Surely after one margarita she couldn't be hallucinating.

  "What's wrong?" Elise asked.

  "Daisy and Wyatt. They're gone." The buffet table, where they'd been huddling a few moments earlier, was now empty.

  "Hmm. They certainly are. Maybe they hit it off, and they've gone somewhere a bit more private."

  "Bite your tongue."