Tyler tried to imagine the cla.s.sic picture of a woman superimposed with Carlie in a flowery dress, her hair loose, swaying in the breeze and humming softly while her bare feet maintained the gentle motion of the swing.

He wasn't quite that imaginative.

The inside of her house was also a contrast, so different from the woman he was getting to know. There was little furniture, only the basic necessities. It was an eclectic mix of modern and antique, light oak and gla.s.s, chintz material and delicate doilies. There were no photographs, but there were framed prints of the most outrageous things. Each room appeared to have a theme.

The living room was spring, with a large, bra.s.s-framed picture of a bee, busily collecting pollen from a daisy. Porcelain flowers decorated each tabletop and filled one curio cabinet.

The dining room, which was minuscule, was decorated with birds. A border of them circled the room, a dainty, delicate figure sat looking over every corner, and in each plant, one peeked from between the leaves.

The kitchen was whales.

He raised his eyebrows at her in question. "How did you choose whales, may I ask?"

Carlie had been busily putting their jackets on the coat tree and checking the stew. She looked at him over her shoulder as she lifted the Crock-Pot lid. "One of the children at school gave me one, once. I said I liked it, and..." She smiled.

"They all decided to give you one?"

"Each cla.s.s seems to take it into their head that I need a new collection of something. But I don't mind. It makes for consistent Christmas presents. There are bunnies in the bathroom and cats in my bedroom."

"What are you going to do when you run out of rooms?"

She tilted her head. "Mix and match?"

He smiled at her wit. "Can I help you set the table or something?"

"No. You can turn on the television if you like. I'm just going to heat the bread and set the table."

Tyler wandered into the living room again. His attention was drawn to the television set and an array of tapes sitting on top. He looked through them, and stopped when he spotted a "Work Out With the Oldies," video. He carried it with him into the kitchen. "Whose is this?"

Carlie paused in the process of serving the stew. "Mine. Who else would it belong to?"

"You work out to the oldies?"

"I like older music. It's more fun than this new stuff kids listen to."

"So do you hop and jostle around in a pair of tights?"

She smirked at his expression. "You're looking at my workout clothes." She spread her arms in the air. The shirt raised a bit and he caught a glimpse of the pale flesh of her belly.

To his disbelief, and annoyance, he felt a brief spurt of interest. It had only been a flash, an instant of white skin, gone too quickly to really appreciate, if indeed, there had been anything there to appreciate.

She was slightly overweight. At least, he thought she was. With the clothes she favored, it was hard to tell for certain. But she definitely had a large bosom. He'd established that today when she was exercising, her body bouncing in all the right places. And from that prominent point, her clothes fell almost straight down, giving no hint of curves or dips and hollows.

But her arms had felt slim when he'd shaken her the other day. And when she'd come into the house, she'd kicked off her shoes, showing narrow feet and trim ankles.

It was simple curiosity, he decided, that was making him react to her. Not that he would ever consider doing anything about it. She was a school teacher, which was bad enough as far as dalliance went, but on top of that she was too d.a.m.n p.r.i.c.kly, and was his sister-in-law's best friend, to boot. She was so far off the scale of available females, he knew he didn't have to concern himself. But he did, anyway.

He'd never met a woman so dedicated to a cause, so at ease with children and so giving. She was totally disinterested in his supposed prowess, in his community standing, in his reputation. All she wanted from him was his help in achieving a worthwhile goal.

Disgruntled with his thoughts, and his overactive imagination that kept him guessing at her elusive, and presumably plump, figure, he stalked toward her and asked bluntly, "How much do you weigh?"

Carlie halted in the middle of opening a package of b.u.t.ter. "That's none of your business!"

"You're working out, so you must feel you need to lose some weight, right?"

"Wrong. I work out to keep in shape. Everybody should." She poked him in the middle. "Don't you?"

"Of course. But that's different."

"Why?"

"I go to a gym. I'm a man."

"Well, I can't afford to go to some fancy gym. And no one ever told me being a man was synonymous with being outrageously snoopy and impertinent. I would have thought a man your age would have learned some manners by now."

It was her teacher's voice again, and Tyler saw that he'd made her truly angry, though she was trying to hide it. He watched as she slammed bowls onto the table, then practically threw the spoons next to them.

"What are you drinking?" he asked cautiously, waiting to see if she would end up throwing something at him.

"I'm drinking milk. You can find yourself something in the refrigerator."

He did. Milk.

After sitting down to eat in perfect, strained silence, he ventured, "I'm sorry...?"

"You're not sure?"

"Of course I'm sure. I just didn't know if you would want me to speak to you. I, ah, seemed to have hit a nerve."

Carlie sighed, dropping her face into her hands.

Tyler had the awful suspicion she was going to cry. In a near whisper, he asked, "Carlie?"

Her shoulders shook, and Tyler's heart stopped. "Aw, Carlie don't. Sometimes I just stick my foot in it. You shouldn't pay any attention to me. Really. Carlie?"

She slowly raised her head. A wicked grin spread across her features. One look at Tyler and she broke into peals of laughter. He fell back against his chair, glaring at her.

"Oh, Tyler. You didn't hit a nerve, honestly." She chuckled again, then removed her gla.s.ses to wipe her eyes. "Actually," she put in, obviously intent on controlling her hilarity and not entirely succeeding, "you're finally acting exactly as I thought you would."

"Is that right?"

"Yes, it is."

He felt the sting of her insult, deliberate, he was certain. "So, you a.s.sumed all along that I was a jerk? Is that it?"

"Not a jerk. Not really. You're an okay guy. But you think you can make up your own rules and everyone, especially females, will abide by them. You deliberately provoke me, and you're purposely outrageous. You don't even try to follow normal codes of manners or behavior. And why should you? Women relentlessly fall at your feet, despite your att.i.tude, so why should you change to accommodate polite society?"

He didn't like having her categorize and a.n.a.lyze his faults as if he fell into an expected mode of "male behavior."

"All this lecturing simply because I commented on your weight?"

"Because you felt it didn't matter if you were rude. After all, I'm not a woman you'd aspire to sleep with. You have no personal, s.e.xual interest in me, so why go out of your way to be charming? There wouldn't be any benefit, now, would there?"

He studied her, his eyes probing. d.a.m.ned if he wasn't letting her get the best of him, again. So far, that was how it had been. She consistently sliced him up, verbally at least, while he was sitting there admiring her. Laughing with him was one thing, but Carlie was actually laughing at him. It was intolerable. "I'll be honest with you. For some inexplicable reason, I'm intrigued by you."

Her eyes widened enormously, and she choked on a breath. Her amus.e.m.e.nt was instantly, and completely, gone.

He waited impa.s.sively until she'd regained her breath. "I've decided it's because you're so d.a.m.ned mysterious."

She sent him a wary look, then shook her head, refusing to meet his eyes. "No. No, I'm not. I'm an open book. You simply refuse to accept there's a woman who isn't bowled over by your charm."

He pretended she hadn't spoken. "What does your body look like? That's what I'm wondering. How plump are you? How big are your b.r.e.a.s.t.s, how bountiful is your bottom? I'm used to looking at a woman and seeing what's there, be it attractive or not, not this infuriating guessing game, trying to see beneath layers of ugly clothing."

Very slowly, Carlie laid her spoon by her bowl. She stared at him, then tightened her mouth. "You're terribly spoiled. You think nothing of going for the jugular just so you can win. All right. So I'm overweight." She lifted one shoulder in a stiff shrug, holding his gaze. "It runs in my family. And flaunting my body would be a bigger crime than hiding it. But so what? I don't need a man's approval to feel good about myself. I'm a very nice person, and I do a very good job, and I care. About this community, about the children, about people in general. Can you say the same, Tyler? So you're handsome. So what? What real contribution have you ever made to your own small part of the world?"

He spooned up a bite of stew, saluting her with it before putting it in his mouth. He chewed thoughtfully, feeling her simmer beside him, her anger growing with his nonchalance. Finally, knowing he'd pushed her far enough and sensing that she was ready to throw her stew at his head, he said, "You do a good job of going for the jugular, as well. I can't think of a single important thing I've ever done in my life. But I don't do bad things, either, discounting my comment on your weight, of course. I pay my taxes on time, I don't drink and drive, I donate to charities-although, only when they actually catch me. I'm a gentleman and I'm kind to older people. Surely all that counts for something?"

"Not much."

"Come on, Carlie. Can't you forgive me? I was only curious, after all, not being deliberately insulting. If I was too nosy, well it's only because I think you could be very attractive. No, don't make rude noises at me again. So you're not a beauty. Big deal. You are intelligent, very intelligent. That's something to be admired. If you made a little effort with your appearance, you might have plenty of equally intelligent men knocking your door down. You would probably have a very busy social schedule."

"I don't have time for a...busy social schedule."

"It's not a disease, you know. You're a fun person to be with. You should be involved with someone special."

Carlie tilted her head back to survey the ceiling. Without looking at him, she asked, "Why do you care, Tyler? I'm not some bird with a broken wing you need to teach to fly. I don't want to fly. Walking is much more my speed."

"I have an idea," he announced, very pleased with himself.

"Oh, no. Now we're in it deep."

He laid his palms flat on the table, and raised himself out of his chair to loom toward her. "Date me."

Carlie eyed him as if he'd grown a second head. As she kept him waiting, he reseated himself, tapping his fingers on the table. "Well?"

"I'm waiting for the punch line."

"All right. Here it is. You might like it. You might enjoy my company."

She made a show of stifling her laughter. "You should get paid. You're a professional."

"Professional what? Or should I ask?"

"Comedian, of course."

"I'm being serious here. The least you could do is listen to me."

"No, the least I could do is make you go home and take your insanity with you." She seemed almost angry-and fl.u.s.tered. Her cheeks were a warm, rosy pink, and her hands trembled just the tiniest bit. Then she widened her eyes comically, gasping. "You don't think it's catching, do you?" She shoved her chair back, holding her hands up in a defensive gesture.

Tyler slowly rose from his seat. "All right, you. I think I ought to take you in hand. Talk about my manners!" As he advanced on her, circling the table with a menacing stride, Carlie shrieked and jumped to her feet, moving quickly to keep the table between them.

"All right! All right! Tell me what you have to say."

Tyler advanced. "Too late. You've challenged my masculinity. And with my ego as enormous as you claim, that must surely be grounds for a.s.sault. Now you'll have to pay."

She was trying not to laugh. He watched the grin grow on her face, and felt satisfaction. Chuckles emerged from between her tightly drawn lips. She clapped a hand over her mouth, still moving cautiously. He followed.

Then Tyler lunged across the table, grabbing for her. She screeched in surprise, but it was already too late. He had her.

Hauling her body across the table, his grip firm on her upper arms, Tyler grinned at her. She was laughing, her gla.s.ses were askew, her chest heaving. And he had the insane, almost overwhelming urge to kiss her.

What the h.e.l.l? he thought, and leaned closer, his eyes on her soft, slightly parted lips. He was filled with an antic.i.p.ation that even surpa.s.sed what he'd felt at the pool house with the masked lady, and that had been shocking in its intensity. What he felt now was so alien to his jaded senses, he actually jerked when she spoke.

Her voice wasn't breathless. It was low and menacing. "Back off."

He did. Slowly regaining his wits, mortified by what he had almost done-to Carlie, for Pete's sake-Tyler managed an unconcerned shrug. "I've never really...played with a woman before. I was only going to-"

"Oh, please. Spare me. I know what you were doing."

"Uh, what?" Maybe she could tell him, for he certainly hadn't a clue what had been in his mind. Carlie? Good grief.

Carlie fussed with her gla.s.ses. "You're playing games. I already told you, I won't have it."

That sounded plausible, though not entirely true. But it helped him to regain his aplomb. "Of course I was playing. And so were you. That's why you should date me. Ah-ah, just hear me out." He waited until she sat down again. "Now, don't storm out on me. I think we could enjoy each other's company, at least, as long as we keep it platonic. I hope you didn't think I meant-"

"Why?" she interrupted, her tone sharp, her look suspicious. "Why would you want to spend more time with me?"

"I like you. Really like you. You make me laugh." Then he added, "And you keep me humble."

She snorted, then ignored his chastising look at the rude noise.

"It would be good for us both. You would learn to relax a little, to concentrate on something other than your obligation to the school, and like I said, I enjoy your company."

"Surely there are other women whose company you would enjoy more?"

"Perhaps. But for different reasons." She opened her mouth, and he raised a hand in surrender. "I know. Uncalled for. Acquit me. But I've been really bored lately and..."

He frowned at her bubble of laughter. "I'm perfectly serious, I'll have you know. Here I am, laying my heart out to you, and you're rudely stomping all over it."

"You know what, Tyler?"

He didn't trust her grin. "Probably not."

"It has been fun at odd and varying moments, which if you're being sincere, is surprising to us both."

He grabbed his chest, feigning a heart attack. "What? You admit to enjoying my company? I'm not totally without redemption? I'm not totally cast down? Carlie McDaniels likes my company! What more encouragement could a man ask for?"

"At odd and varying moments," she clarified. "Okay, so where would we go and what would we do on these experimental, platonic dates?"