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Prologue, Chapter One, Chapter Two, Chapter Three

Rag dolls couldn't change expressions. They just couldn't.

But if not, then tell me why the spry little Kitchen Spirit perched securely on her satin crescent moon seemed to have more than the normal twinkle in her eye? What had changed?

Certainly not her vantage point. The little character still hung by the kitchen window where she had been placed two years before to insure good luck; her little tag had said, "The right seasoning in your soups/ The perfect ingredients for your guests/Nutritious meals for your family/And dining at its best." Her creator had given a more than satisfied smile as she had situated the delicate little doll, fashioned from scraps of this and that, over the spotless porcelain sink of the 93-year-old Miss Rose Devereaux. And there she had remained, charming each visitor who ventured into the spacious, old-fashioned kitchen to linger by the brick fireplace and pass an always-interesting afternoon with Miss Rose.

No. It wasn't her vantagepoint that had changed.

And certainly the little doll's clothes were the same. Her delicate seven-inch figure was dressed not unlike her owner. The exquisitely tailored miniature dress was a tiny copy of the graceful flowered frocks and shawls Miss Rose had worn all her life. Had in fact been buried in not two months earlier. But why shouldn't her clothes be the same? Hadn't the Kitchen Spirit's creator made no secret that the grand Miss Rose Devereaux had been the inspiration for the successful craft venture that seemed to grace every kitchen in America.

So what did seem different about the little figure on that brisk fall day? The old Victorian house was empty -- wasn't it? True. Miss Rose was no longer there to offer her guests a cup of tea from her oversized flowered cups accompanied by a seemingly endless supply of heart-shaped chocolate sugar cookies.

But if you stopped for a moment and closed your eyes you could almost feel the gracious spirit of Miss Rose beckoning you, telling you --

Wait a minute. That was it. Look again. That little figure delicately reigning over the enchanting kitchen had never held a note in her hand before. Hundreds of thousands of the little lady known as the Kitchen Spirit had been sold around the world over the past two years and about a gadzillion accessories were available for her. You could outfit her with the likes of a miniature spatula, a wooden spoon no bigger than a button, a whisk the size of a thimble, to name just a few. But never a note. No.

But there it was. Small. Like a carefully rolled little diploma fastened with a tiny, silver cord. So very tempting to pluck from the determined little hand and unroll. But . . ..

Now it becomes obvious why the figure looks different. Her always-wise eyes look a little wiser. Her kind smile definitely kinder. Just what does she have on her mind?

That little note -- however it came to be clutched in that small hand -- must be the answer.

But who is it for? And who put it there?

Listen. A truck is pulling into the old gravel driveway, popping the stones under its weight. There's a man's voice. Low, caressing. And intriguing.

Could it be?

No! Did that little stuffed sprite just give a knowing wink?

Impossible! Impossible.

Isn't it?

Chapter One

Henry had to admit it. He had never seen a green M&M with better legs.

Okay, he smiled easily. He'd never seen a real M&M with legs. He tried to duck his head nonchalantly to get a better look and realized he was feeling much less analytical than usual. Maybe because he'd just never seen better legs. Period.

"Trick or treat!" Henry looked down to see the three mini M&Ms standing excitedly in front of the green M&M extending their Halloween bags hopefully.

"Right," he said with a tired grin. It was Halloween. He hadn't even had the time to carve a pumpkin, but that wasn't going to stop the kids from coming. Not that he wanted them to stop. He liked kids. His six sisters had supplied him with enough nieces and nephews for a couple of baseball teams. Two were upstairs now putting the finishing touches on their pirate costumes while his oldest sister -- bless her! -- was trying to make some sense out of the kitchen.

Now if he could just find some candy. But where? The movers had just left thirty minutes before and he couldn't even begin to guess what was in all these boxes. And he had packed them! Henry Cork. A name synonymous with meticulous organization. And he couldn't remember to save his life what was in all of them.

Now that was not like Henry. No. Henry was organized. Organized!? He remembered hearing his youngest sister proclaim to his ex-girlfriend as he excused himself to refresh her coffee in the kitchen, "I mean, Henry is the only guy I know who can match all of his socks. Bor-ing!"

Thank you, Patsy. Heck. He should have let that bully Archie Dunkin give her that punch in the nose he'd often threatened her with. Henry smiled to himself. No. He couldn't have done that. His parents had made it clear that it was part of Henry's responsibility to help protect his sisters in the rough neighborhood where they grew up. With all those sisters he did a lot of protecting. Maybe that was why he still felt so protective of women. And maybe that was why most women thought Henry Cork was a little old fashioned.

Old fashioned. Well, not in all ways. He could take apart a computer and put it back together with his eyes closed. And, okay, his socks did match. But did his sister have to point it out? Was it really a fault?

When he'd finished pouring the coffee -- which ex-girlfriend had it been, let's see, Betsy with the high-pitched laugh, well, whoever -- he had been tempted to duck into the laundry room and switch his argyles. But he'd stopped right before he'd reached his shoelaces. Henry was, after all, a freelance statistician. On his way to making more than a pretty good living at it. He hadn't noticed most people wanting to hire an unorganized statistician for a marketing study or to get their candidate elected. His reputation for getting the numbers and his formulas for successfully predicting successful results for his clients were becoming legendary at the ripe young age of thirty-one.

So his socks matched. So he was organized. Okay. A little too organized at times. So what had happened now, he thought, as he surveyed the tower of boxes in his newly acquired home. Overly organized? He let out a long sigh. His great Aunt Rose's home was bound to cure that. Cure? That would have been her word for it. What had there been about his late, very great aunt who could bring out in Henry what he considered the very worst? Was it the scent of rose potpourri and flowery wallpaper that seemed to fill every rambling room of her old Victorian home? Had it been her wardrobe of shimmering silk scarves and shawls that she draped elegantly over her frail 95-year-old shoulders? Or had it been the dreamy, romantic look in those clear, cornflower blue eyes that encouraged you to stop and sniff every flower that graced the interior and exterior of three-story-plus old mansion?

Whatever it was, Henry had a feeling it was the same thing that had made him much too impulsively -- he was not impulsive -- buy this monster house in the tiny farming community of Bantam, Oklahoma, from his sisters when their great aunt had passed away two months earlier. He had tried to convince himself that it had been the spacious attic with its adjoining porch that had caught his attention. As an amateur astronomer, the lofty room was the perfect place for his assortment of telescopes. The dark neighborhood was the perfect setting to view the brilliant night sky. And after all, 67% of Americans bought the first house they looked at.

But in the back of his mind he knew it was something else. He couldn't quite place it. Now that was very unHenry like. And if it hadn't been that opportunity for a spectacular view of the Orion constellation, well, it had been something, chances are he wouldn't be here now, a single man with a heck of a lot of computers selling his ultra-modern downtown condo in Oklahoma's largest city to suddenly inhabit a house with enough gingerbread to feed Napoleon's army.

Enough speculation. Back to business.

Henry surveyed the boxes quickly. Candy. Candy. Had he brought any with him? Probably not. He really wasn't a candy eater. Four out of five dentists surveyed believed that the major cause of cavities in children under the age of five . . . did he smell chocolate?

He wandered a little too absently for Henry Cork into the graceful dining room where the oversized table was lined with spices, ingredients for baking, and an impressive line of cereal boxes, and was greeted by the intoxicating aroma of roses -- in October?-- and the smell of rich milk chocolate. Henry sniffed. Russell Stover assorteds. Aunt Rose's favorites. She had always kept cut glass bowls of that variety scattered around the house. Surely they weren't still here. A quick inspection confirmed that. No real chocolates. Just the lingering memory, as if . . ..

Henry shook his head and smiled. It was almost as if the lovely Rose had never vacated the house at all. Patsy didn't think she had.

"I'm telling you, big brother," she'd said as they walked through the still rooms after the late summer funeral, "Aunt Rose's spirit will inhabit this house for eternity. Her presence is everywhere. The smells, the sounds, her belongings, you can almost feel her here. I half expect to see her rocking in one of her favorite chairs every time we enter a room."

Still. Henry had to admit, for all his practicality, that Patsy seemed right. There was that relaxing, romantic aura that seemed to reach out and caress you the minute you stepped into the old home. Her presence seemed to warm every room as if she were still there urging you to stay for another cup of tea, gracefully insisting that you have one more cookie.

"Sometimes you feel like a nut, sometimes . . .."

What the? Henry listened as the green M&M gracing his door entertained the fidgeting children. He could see her, those springy red curls bobbing back and forth as she sang the praises of sweets. What a funny lady, he grinned. What nice legs.

Henry rubbed his forehead as if attempting to brush away the fog that seemed to be clouding his usual clear thinking. Damn this house. He must have been nuts to buy this place. No. No. He wasn't. It was a good investment. Wasn't it? Henry straightened his broad shoulders and smoothed his wiry sandy-colored hair seriously. No one had ever accused Henry Cork of being nuts.

"Almond Joy's got nuts . . .."

He shook his head, grinned, and sneaked a peak. He could hear the kids giggling as the green M&M wiggled her candy-coated hips and launched into a decidedly offkey praise of Good 'n Plenties . . ..

Of course, if that leggy, green M&M felt like a nut -- Henry. Get a grip. Credit that surprising fantasy to exhaustion. Mentally put on your matching socks, yellow power tie, and a three-piece number and deal with the pint-sized Halloweeners waiting on the porch. You're just tired. You can do this. They're just kids. He grinned again. Just kids? There was no tougher audience. Especially when your equilibrium -- and now there was a euphemism -- was more than slightly skewed by the sexy green one. A sexy M&M? Henry pondered the marketing possibilities.

He absently picked up a box of cereal. Kids liked cereal, didn't they?- he thought as he made his way through the maze of boxes back to the front door. Forty-eight percent of children under ten had some sort of cereal for breakfast. He was ready to tell the crew on the porch that he just didn't have any candy. What he wasn't ready for was the expectant look on their faces. He groaned silently. He couldn't disappoint them and a handful of dry Shredded Wheat certainly wasn't considered a treat.

"Karen," he called to his sister in the kitchen. "Do we have any candy?" Then he turned his attention back to the mini M&Ms. "Hold on a minute, munchkins, I'll see what I can find."

"We're not munchkins," the blue one announced surprising Henry as he stood at the front door admiring their costumes. He grinned. Her speech seemed to be lacking the sound of "r's." He had a niece like that.

This young lady seemed to be waiting for an answer.

"Well, I just meant --" he began as the tiny M&M stood her ground.

"We're M&Ms. Minis." Then she pointed with her free hand over her shoulder indicating a tall woman with a friendly smile. "Mrs. Thomas is the peanut. That was supposed to be Mr. Thomas's costume but he had to work late. And," she pointed to the other piece of candy with a cap of soft, curly red hair, the most incredible blue eyes Henry had ever seen, and lips as pink and soft as two rose petals, "Mama is plain."

No.

Henry caught himself smiling and biting his tongue. Something he rarely found the need to do. But he didn't think he should tell this -- what was she? Five? -- Probably five-year-old that Mama and Mama's legs were anything but plain.

Okay. Okay. He wasn't nuts. He never went nuts over a woman. He frowned a little. Maybe that's why his list of ex-girlfriends was beginning to require its own computer program to keep it straight. Keep it straight? Why bother? He thought forgetting was definitely better.

Okay. He was a little old fashioned. He still held open a door for a woman, well, for everyone for that matter. His parents had said that was just good manners. And what had been wrong with surprising a date with a corsage? He grimaced thinking of the odd look that woman had given him.

"Oh, Henry," she'd said without opening the box, "you're so old fashioned. It's the 90s," she'd told him. As if that was supposed to explain everything.

So why did this candy-coated lady seem any different? Was it the loving way she looked at her daughter? The way she and her peanut friend were laughing freely while they sang those candy jingles on his porch? Or was it just those legs making him nuts?

This candy-coated lady was certainly, now find a safe word, interesting. And, he reminded himself as he excused himself and returned to the kitchen searching for Halloween treats, probably married. He scrounged quickly through the boxes. He couldn't remember having any candy. He hardly ever ate it himself. It just put on the weight and darned if his pants didn't feel a little snug anyway.

He stood up so suddenly that his sister stopped wiping the cabinets and stared at him.

"Are you okay?" she asked her brother. He looked okay. He had the same muscular physique that had sent him to college on a football scholarship and had carried him across Europe as a Rhode scholar. But his rugged, intelligent face that never registered "flustered," seemed -- could she be right? -- Puzzled.

"Fine," he said turning his back to her quickly and opening an empty cabinet. "Has to be candy here somewhere."

"I think I saw some when I emptied the pantry," said his sister starting for the dining room. "You know how auntie was. She loved these holidays. She always shopped early for her goodies."

"Yeah," she heard her brother say vaguely. Vaguely. Henry Cork was never vague. She gave him a sideways glance as she inspected the jumble on the dining room table. Probably just tired. That's all.

Henry. He pretended to peruse the contents of the pantry with great interest. Henry. Get a grip. That's not candy making your pants feel tight. Well, okay, it was if you counted the not-so-plain M&M on the porch. He took a deep breath. Control. Control. The woman with the hair you want to touch -- it helped to admit it -- was married. Of course. After all, 73% the women in the United States were married. Chances were . . ..

Oklahoma wasn't straining her neck to catch a look at that man's backside as he disappeared into the kitchen in search of candy. She wasn't. She'd had a busy day and she was just working out a kink while she sang to keep the kids entertained.

"Gimme a break, gimme a break, break me . . .."

She stretched her neck. But, lord, if his backside was as nice as his frontside. Then she sighed. Oklahoma. He's married. Hadn't he called for -- what was her name -- Karen? You've wondered ever since you saw him poking around Rose's house a couple of days ago. Now you know. So. There. She exhaled. Why had she been holding her breath? That was that.

She smiled, hummed an old Hershey Kisses jingle, and inspected the kids' costumes critically. Hadn't they turned out nice?

Didn't he have nice arms?

Oklahoma. Well, he did, darn it. That had been one of the first things she'd noticed about him. Those large, muscular arms covered with sandy-colored hair. Not like he'd spent hours in the gym toning this and that and admiring himself in a mirror. These muscles had just seemed to be part of him. Like those nicely shaped legs and flat stomach and that face that could look so serious and then suddenly flash a heart-stopping grin. Just like he had at her Annie as she had explained the costumes.

Funny, thought Oklahoma as she listened to the other Trick or Treaters making their way up and down the block, in all of Annie's five-and-half years her father had never looked at her that way. But then Sean had barely looked at either of them before he left. Not that Oklahoma had been sorry he'd left. She knew their marriage was over. She didn't care if he ever spoke to her again. But how he could completely ignore his only child, well, now that still had her puzzled. And when he did take the time to pay attention it was only when he had brought Annie some designer kid's outfit and dressed her up to take her out to fulfill his image as the doting father.

But then isn't that how he'd treated her? Oklahoma had been encouraged at first when Sean had urged her to complete her business degree. He seemed interested, but looking back she should have seen something coming. His response to her pregnancy had been less than enthusiastic. Sean had viewed it as an inconvenience. But she'd been so excited about starting her own business, too, she hadn't heard the dissatisfaction in his voice.

But then his dissatisfaction had completely baffled her. Why wouldn't it be better for her to run a business out of their home so she could be there for their kids, runny noses, and chicken pox? Wouldn't that be easier than the expense of daycare and the hassle of finding sitters?

Talk about luck. It had only been six weeks after they moved into their house across the street from Miss Rose's Victorian that Oklahoma had met her backfence neighbor Margie Thomas, seamstress and friend extraordinaire. And it was only about fifteen minutes after they met that they hatched their plan for a craft business.

At first Oklahoma thought Sean's objection had been the business.

"Let me get this straight," Sean had said, looking with distaste at the expertly sewn doll balanced on the table before him. "You're going to make a doll out of old pantyhose that looks like that crazy old lady across the street --"

Oklahoma had contained her anger. With a great deal of effort.

"-- That perches on a moon that you hang over the sink to bring good luck to your kitchen." He glanced at her with that all-too-familiar sarcasm. "And you'll make costumes for -- what did you call her? The Kitchen Spirit? -- the different seasons and holidays. Oklahoma, get real."

Well, she didn't know if she'd gotten real. But she knew she was getting success from her hard work. But that didn't really surprise her. After all, she'd done her homework, her market research. Studied the economic outlook. Put together a solid business plan with the encouragement of her accounting and marketing professors. The numbers said go for it. Her teachers said go for it. Only Sean had doubted her.

And then she had been successful.

That success, that was what had really annoyed Sean. It had quickly became apparent that Sean didn't really want a successful wife. Just the appearance of a successful wife. And appearances were just one of many things they differed on. But it was a big one.

He could hardly wait to get her into a short, sexy business suit. But Oklahoma found it much more practical to work in her overalls in their converted garage. Then she'd be home near Annie and she could put her profits back into the business instead of paying for rent -- and expensive suits. She remembered the day he'd presented her with a list of acceptable, image enhancing corporations where she could apply for jobs.

She'd stopped pinning together the Kitchen Spirit's Christmas outfit to read the list and had just as quickly produced for him the list of orders she'd already received for her new product. He hadn't cared and that's when she realized he had only wanted her in business to look good for him. The $600-suits, the $400-briefcases, the appropriate businesses -- it was all for him. How it would make him look.

No thanks. She wanted to have her own business and be there when Annie came home from school. And that's just what she was doing. Without Sean. He'd left that evening and in the two-and-half-years since he'd left, she and Annie had seen him three times.

It didn't bother Oklahoma. She and Sean had grown apart and out of love. But it bothered her a great deal for Annie. The little girl no longer even asked about Daddy. He had disappointed her so many times. And try as she might, Oklahoma couldn't let her opinion of Sean cloud her opinion of all men. Men! A disappointment to be sure. In the few years since Sean had walked out of her life Oklahoma had barely given any man a passing glance.

But -- she shrugged her shoulders as she inhaled the fresh night air -- there was that kink again. In her neck. Probably from leaning over the sewing machine or the computer all morning. If she could just stretch a little farther her neck would feel better and maybe she could see that nicely shaped derriere -- Oklahoma! She stood up straight so abruptly that she almost knocked over Margie as they waited for Henry to reappear with the candy.

"Whoa," said Margie grabbing the handrailing on the porch. "You okay? We had a busy morning but I've never known you to fall asleep on your feet, girl," her neighbor laughed.

Oklahoma tried to smile innocently. Margie knew her too well and she could feel her friend's eyes scrutinizing her in the dark.

"No, I'm okay," said Oklahoma as she pretended to peer into her bag of candy scrounging for a Tootsie Roll Pop. Think fast. "I just hate to inconvenience this family if they just moved in. We probably just ought to move on."

"We can't do that now," said Margie. "It would be even ruder to have him search down the candy and then be gone when he got back. Besides," said her friend digging down into her Halloween bag and pulling out a piece of paper, "we need to make sure he gets one of the fliers about the picnic this weekend. I mean, he's new on the block so he really needs to know about the neighborhood meeting. Those vandals have only struck once, but once is definitely too much," she said unwrapping a Tootsie Roll Pop and handing it to Oklahoma. It had taken Margie about two days after she met Oklahoma to realize that her new friend and business partner always required a Pop when she was nervous. So what was making her nervous now? Margie shrugged. Maybe it was the subject of the vandals.

Oklahoma frowned just thinking about the damage done to the house just two doors down from Margie. Luckily, the family had not been home. But the neighborhood had always been so safe, so friendly. Just like tonight as the neighbors walked up and down the block kidding with their "spooky" neighbors and laughing at the outrageous costumes. So easy going. And now this. The informal meeting at the neighborhood picnic this Saturday was designed to attack the problem before it happened again.

Oklahoma shuddered. If that group of thugs broke into her garage. Computers sewing machines, inventory -- gad the damage that could be done. Well, that stuff could be replaced. Oklahoma placed a protective hand on Annie's shoulder. But some things couldn't be.

"Well," began Oklahoma hesitantly and tried to continue slowly, "I guess you're right." And who would mind another look? She felt her fair skin coloring and was thankful for the dark night. Maybe she had stayed away from men a little too long. Maybe. She felt a small hand tugging at her candy coating.

"You okay, Annie?" she asked her daughter.

"I'm okay," said the little voice, "but Mrs. Thomas is right, Mom. We can't leave. Besides, this is the house where we get our fortune told. 'Member?"

Oklahoma felt the tears gather quickly in her eyes as she awkwardly bent down to her daughter in her Halloween costume and tried to smile. "Oh, Annie," she said softly, "do you remember the talk we had? Miss Rose is gone. She's the lady who told your fortune. But she was very old --"

"I know, Mom," said the little girl who resembled a miniature of her mother, in or out of the bright candy costume. She patted her mother comfortingly on her shoulder so Oklahoma had to shake her head in wonderment. Kids. When would she ever learn they were a lot smarter than anyone gave them credit for? "You told me Miss Rose was very old. She died in her sleep and she's in heaven."

Oklahoma nodded her head and smiled with relief.

"But," said the kindergartner with authority, "this guy," and she looked over her shoulder in the direction that Henry had padded off to some minutes before, "seems pretty nice. Maybe he tells fortunes, too," she suggested hopefully. "After all, he's got the shawls," she said pointing to the bentwood coat rack still laden with the silk shawls Miss Rose's shoulders had never been without.

Oklahoma stood slowly and gave a puzzled smile. Odd. Why would Miss Rose's clothes still be in the house? And Oklahoma was confident those shawls were Miss Rose's. She'd seen them dozens of times when she came to tea with the lovely lady or, more towards the end, to bring a bowl of homemade soup for her failing friend.

"Well, you're right, Pumpkin," said Oklahoma and immediately regretted her comment as she felt her daughter's gentle but insistent poke.

"You promised, Mom," said her daughter. "My hair might be the color of a pumpkin but I don't look like that," she said pointing to a leering Jack-O-Lantern on the porch next door.

"I'm sorry," said Oklahoma quickly and caught Margie rolling her eyes. "You certainly don't. I'll try not to call you Pumpkin."

"Better than squash," Margie's seven-year-old giggled.

"Or turnip," the six-year-old piped in.

Oklahoma smiled sadly as she listened to the three children giggle. She did miss Miss Rose. She'd first brought Annie trick-or-treating at the big Victorian home two years ago when the little girl had spied the elderly lady seated at a wicker table on her front porch with a "Magic Ball," an exotic shawl draped around her white hair gypsy-style. She could spin a tale in her soft, lilting voice that could convince even the most cynical skeptics that there would be true love in the future. Oklahoma felt herself frowning as she listened to the children giggling. A cynical skeptic. Was that what she had become? She had tried to keep an open mind on the world for Annie's sake, but after Sean's departure she couldn't help but be cynical about this talk of romantic love. She didn't like to think about the nights she'd stayed awake wondering what had gone wrong. But she was sure of one thing. She wasn't going to let it happen again. Ever.

Still. To hear Miss Rose weave a happy future for you in the glow of an orange pumpkin candle, well, anything seemed possible.

Oh, yes, she missed that lovely lady.

"Or lima bean," she heard Annie say and Margie's two dissolve in giggles. "How would you like to be called lima bean?"

"What's all this talk about vegetables when we have candy?" Oklahoma heard a low voice say as she looked up. And up. Goodness, he was taller than she had realized. He must have unearthed Miss Rose's holiday decorations because not only had he reappeared with a bag of less-than-new candy -- were there rabbits on that bag? -- but a ceramic pumpkin complete with a candle that definitely threw more of a light on the subject Oklahoma was finding herself more and more interested in.

Whoa. Remember. This guy -- this incredibly sexy guy, sexy from the thick sandy hair that seemed to cover his well-muscled body and invite her touch to the intelligent gray eyes that seemed to focus on her -- was married. Married. Oklahoma squared her shoulders as best she could in her bulky costume.

"Thank you so much," she said in her best Mom tone. "We didn't mean to inconvenience you."

"My pleasure," Henry heard himself saying as he unconsciously licked his lips. Then he stopped so abruptly Oklahoma felt her mouth drop open. Gad. What had this guy been thinking?

What am I doing, thought Henry as he deposited the pumpkin on the wicker table and began to open the candy to keep his hands busy. She's married. Married. As in there's a man across the street -- he thought that's where she lived. Oh, right. You know that's where she lives. She's caught your eye more than once since you've been poking around Aunt Rose's house. She'll go home tonight and in about two hours they'll be -- he frowned. He didn't want to think about another man touching his plain M&M. Another man. His plain M&M. Henry. You mean her husband. He fumbled with the candy unable to get a grip on the bag or his emotions. A flash of jealousy streaked through Henry's normally calm body. There was nothing organized about the green-eyed monster and Henry was relieved when an innocent voice broke the tension.

"That candy looks a little old," he heard one of the mini M&Ms say.

It suddenly got very quiet. Everyone was waiting for an answer.

Henry looked down at the rather pathetic bag of candy. Yes. It did look old. In fact, now that he had time to look at it closely it looked more like Easter candy than Halloween candy. Brightly colored, but slightly chipped purple and pink eggs.

Henry was a businessman. How many times in the past years had he had to think on his feet. Fast. But never to such a tough audience. Think. Think.

"Well, you know," he began a little too loudly so he saw the assorted M&Ms jump slightly in surprise, "Halloween is an old holiday."

"So is Thanksgiving but Mama never lets us eat the turkey leftovers after Uncle Lance and Aunt Lucy leave," said Margie's oldest. It was silent for a minute as everyone on the porch pondered the ramifications of old turkey.

Very tough audience.

"It's believed," began Henry Roll-a-Dexing through his brain for notes taken for a holiday survey seven years before, "that the Druids began Halloween over 2,000 years ago. You see, the Druids --"

"Can we just see the candy?" asked Annie.

"Annie!" exclaimed Oklahoma wishing contrary to popular advertising that her candy coating would allow her to melt right into the porch and disappear.

Henry found himself flashing that grin again and Oklahoma thought she would melt. Preferably in his hands. "No. She's right. You all are out for candy not a lecture." Henry ripped open the plastic bag and looked inside. "But I gotta tell you, Pumpkin --"

Pumpkin. Oh, God. Oklahoma prayed quickly for two things. First, that Annie wouldn't chastise this sweet man for calling her Pumpkin. But Annie's full attention was on the dilapidated bag of candy. Oklahoma exhaled. Slightly. Her second prayer was that this very sexy man hadn't seen her assume the open-mouth fish posture again when she heard him address her daughter with more affection than her real father ever had. He hadn't. She rolled her eyes. Maybe this was her night, she thought as she watched her new neighbor frown slightly -- he looked good doing that, too -- and bend down on incredibly strong legs to show the three minis that the candy had, indeed, seen better days.

" -- I don't think I would recommend eating this candy. I'm awfully sorry I don't have anything for you for Halloween."

"No, no, please," Oklahoma began and hoped no one could hear her heart thudding as her neighbor's eyes locked onto hers. "We should have never bothered you. Why you've just moved in and here we are --" she began babbling and he began grinning again.

"But you can do something for us," said Annie.

It took a moment for Oklahoma to hear Annie's voice and then her neighbor's response.

"What can I do for you, young lady?" asked Henry more amused than puzzled.

Before Oklahoma could stop her, Annie had shot past Henry into the hallway and plucked a fringed silk shawl from the coat rack and was back.

"You can tell our fortunes," said Annie breathlessly. "Just like Miss Rose used to. You have the table," she said pointing to the old wicker furniture that still graced the front porch. "You sort of have a magic ball," she continued as the candle in the ceramic pumpkin flickered. "And this is the magic shawl Miss Rose always wore," she said as she draped the length of silk over his head and very broad shoulders before Oklahoma could stop her.

"There," said Annie smiling. Then she walked over to the table, settled herself on a chair, and stuck out her hand. "Miss Rose always looked at our palms first."

Oklahoma held her breath. What next? She thought for an instant that she should intervene but one look at this gentleman's face as his eyes flickered from the expectant Annie to the surprised Margie before settling gently on Oklahoma and she knew he wanted to handle this. A man of his stature certainly seemed capable of handling anything. That was to be sure. But it was the understanding look in his eyes as he smiled softly, seductively at Oklahoma that made her realize he wasn't about to snatch that shawl from around his face like some other men might. Instead, standing up, he stepped with surprising grace over the bag of candy Annie had deposited and settled in a chair opposite her at the table before taking her small hand.

"Well, Annie," Henry began as he inspected her palm, "I can tell there's been chocolate in your past," he said with a wink as he saw the sticky brown lines that crisscrossed her hand. Annie sat very quietly with a serious look on her face.

Henry cleared his throat nervously. "But you want to know about the future, don't you?"

Annie nodded vigorously and looked at him expectantly.

Henry closed his eyes to stall for time. Damn. He wasn't used to predicting the future, at least not without the help of hours, weeks, or months of research. He worked from spreadsheets not pumpkin candles. And even then, the future was so uncertain. Was that everyone's fascination with it? A glimpse of what might be. He couldn't stand to disappoint this little imp.

He heard a sigh. Soft and dreamy. Was that the plain M&M?

Oklahoma placed her small hand over her mouth as if to stifle a yawn instead of hiding a sigh. What had she been thinking? She knew exactly what she had been thinking as Henry's intelligent eyes had closed. Would he look as peaceful, as sexy on the pillow next to her after about ten hours of -- Oklahoma!

Henry opened his eyes and waved one strong hand over the candle. "I see, I see," he began tentatively, "a good year at school. Because you're so very smart."

"Mama already told me that," Annie said politely. "What else?" Her blue eyes shined as brightly as the candle.

"Well," began Henry, "I see something new in your future." Wasn't that safe?

"Something or someone?" asked Annie.

Suddenly Henry could feel himself crawling out on a limb. "It's a little hazy, my dear," he said dreamily and heard the wicker chair creak as Annie shifted forward excitedly. "Let the All-Seeing Linebacker get a clearer picture."

Oklahoma could hear Margie smothering her laughter as the kids watched the super-sized fortuneteller, mesmerized.

Oklahoma had to admit this guy was something to see. The fringe from the luxurious shawl fell over his rugged, yet kind face reminding her of a big-pawed puppy poking its head from under the covers. Adorable. Cuddly. Yeah. Under the covers. She rolled her eyes. Why did she keep thinking of this guy in terms of bed? Okay. She knew why. The question was how was she going to stop it?

"Well," she heard Henry began as he waved his hands over his head and rolled his eyes, "I think I see a, wait a minute, it's becoming clearer, yes, yes." By now a crowd was gathering on the porch. Two pirates had emerged from the house with a pretty woman -- was that Karen?-- and other parents and kids had gathered on the steps.

Henry's brain was working overtime. Think! What would almost any kid want? Why hadn't he done a survey on this? He'd conducted polls on most everything else. Wait a minute. He'd been a kid. His sisters had tons of kids. What did almost every kid want?

It came to him in a flash. Of course. Bingo. A pet. You didn't need a survey to know that. It was so obvious. Henry grinned with pleasure. He had it.

"Yes, the magic ball is revealing all. I see in your future --"

"Yes, yes," said Annie almost ready to crawl over the table.

"I see, oh, M&M mini," said Henry swaying exotically over the Wal-Mart pumpkin with such animation that even Karen's mouth had dropped open. My God, what had gotten into her brother?

"I see," he said standing with a final flourish to stall for time and stretching out his long arms toward the night sky. The stars were brilliant tonight. He'd promised himself an hour with his new telescope later tonight. Much later. And he'd have it just as soon as -- wait. There was Sirius, shining bright and part of the Big Dog Constellation. Sure. A dog.

"I see," he said sitting down triumphantly. What a brilliant idea! "A dog."

It had taken him a full five minutes to come up with that prediction and less than five seconds to realize the error of his way.

Chapter Two

Henry knew from Annie's squeal he'd hit the right button and he was feeling pretty pleased until he turned and saw the look of horror on the plain M&M's face.

Uh oh. Then he remembered. Never make the promise of a pet without consulting the parents first. He grimaced just remembering the look on his sister's face when he had arrived with guinea pigs at her son's birthday party. Yep. You just didn't do that. So what had made him do it, he thought as he adjusted the silken scarf that had fallen to his shoulders. Henry's large hands paused as he touched the shawl. For that matter, what had possessed him to let this little girl drape this flowery scarf around his head and began this charade? Had it been the look in Annie's eyes, the length of her mother's legs, or was it this house? There. You could smell it again. The aroma of roses and chocolate. And it certainly wasn't coming from the assorted Halloween bags clutched protectively in the kids' hands gathered on the porch.

"Mama, Mama, did you hear?" asked the little girl running to her mother and then back to Henry with such excitement that Henry pulled the shawl back onto his head. "Mama had told me I couldn't have a dog because we'd have to leave it alone so much, but if you say I'm getting a dog then it's true. I'm getting a dog." She stopped to take in a deep breath. "What kind? Does the magic ball say what kind?"

Henry was barely aware of Annie's questions his eyes were so riveted to the expression of horror on her mother's face. Even in the dark of the porch he could tell that the color had drained from her face and this was hardly the time for the oversized fortuneteller to apologize for predicting the future. It was obvious that Annie was a very bright little girl. But she was still a kid, a kid who had just been told she was getting a dog. Or had she? Henry suddenly thought. She had been told there was a dog in her future. But . . .

Oklahoma was trying to regain her composure as Annie jumped around the porch squealing with excitement. "What kind? What kind?" she pleaded. "Oh, Mama, did you hear? And you said we couldn't have one!"

That was right. She'd said they couldn't have one. Oh, Oklahoma loved dogs. That was the problem. She couldn't stand for the dog to be lonesome. With Annie at school full time next year and her busy schedule with her business, the dog would be left alone a lot. She thought she'd finally convinced Annie that getting a dog would be a mistake. But now this. She groaned silently. Now it was going to start all over again.

Thank you, new neighbor. What kind of an idiot would say that to a kid he didn't even know? Okay. He was an incredibly sexy idiot and, Oklahoma had to admit, maybe not as stupid as she thought because from the look on his face he knew he'd just made a big mistake. Well, that was nice but what was he going to do about it? She sighed wearily. He didn't have to do anything about it. Annie was her daughter and it was her problem.

Suddenly the porch seemed very close and Oklahoma needed air. Fast. She had never fainted but she had to admit it was a distinct possibility at the moment. Or was she swooning? Whatever it was, she was feeling lightheaded and the only remedy seemed to be a huge dose of brisk night air. She had just turned to make her way down the porch steps when she felt what seemed to be an electric jolt coursing through her body and felt a strong hand encircle hers. At first she thought it was just the surprise that someone was trying to stop her. But it wasn't. His hand was strong and rough, but very gentle as he slowly pulled her back onto the porch, and his light touch warmed her in places she hadn't been warm for what was obviously too long.

Frankly, she'd been thinking of different ways to kill this guy. She was that angry. Being a single parent was hard. Very hard. So if she was angry with him why was her body reacting this way. Thankfully, he couldn't see her nipples hardening under the candy-coating costume but she could feel them and as much as she wanted him to know her anger from her eyes she ducked her head so he couldn't see the warmth of color flooding her face.

Oh, great, Henry thought. Well, it was great he grinned to himself. Correction. She was great. His large body was rocketing from the touch of her small hand. But other parts of this scenario were not so great. Here I am, he thought, standing on my porch. No one knows me. The new kid on the block. I have this shawl on my head. I've insulted my nearest neighbor and she's aroused me quicker than I've ever been aroused in my life and I wish this shawl fell below my waist, but it doesn't so I'll just have to hope this porch is dark enough to hide my obvious delight with the married lady from across the street while half the neighborhood looks on.

Oh, Henry.

"What are you doing?" he suddenly heard her whisper as he dragged her toward the wicker table.

"Trust me," he replied from the corner of his mouth.

"Trust you!" she said, her cool blue eyes flashing so hot that he sat down quickly behind the wicker table. Lord. If she was going to continue to be his neighbor, and she might not after this, he was going to start buying roomier pants. He rubbed his forehead hoping for a glimmer of sense. Geez. If his clients could see him now. He smothered a laugh. What was he thinking? If his clients could see him now, he wouldn't have any clients.

"Why should I trust you after what you just pulled, mister?" she hissed.

"Cork."

"What?"

"Cork. Henry Cork," he said grinning. He couldn't help it. She was beautiful. "I just realized I hadn't introduced myself."

Oklahoma rolled her eyes and Henry's heart pounded much harder.

"Well," she said a tad too sweetly, "it's hard to make introductions when you have your foot in your mouth."

At that Oklahoma felt Henry's hand tighten on her wrist and she was certain he growled and his eyes darkened. Was that anger or desire? Oklahoma had handled tougher numbers than this, but she still didn't want to make someone his size angry. On the other hand, if it was desire, no, it just couldn't be, not with his wife -- that lady at the door must be Karen -- and his two swashbuckling kids looking on.

Damn, thought Oklahoma. The local junior college offered classes in everything. Why not this. She supposed she could pretend to faint. She and her best friend used to practice the appropriate damsel in distress faint for hours when they were growing up. No. That wouldn't work. It was the millennium. Wasn't that the excuse for everything these days?

Oklahoma settled herself in the wicker chair opposite, what had he said? Henry. Henry Cork. Odd name. Well, this was turning into an odd evening. Let's just get it over with. She just wanted to get away from this guy. Sort of.

"What 'cha doing?" she suddenly heard a little voice say and then saw Annie appear by the table.

Henry adjusted the shawl. "The All Knowing Linebacker needs to look into your mom's future to know about the dog."

Annie nodded. This made perfect sense to a five-year-old.

Henry breathed a small sigh of relief. So far, so good.

Then he felt a small hand on his arm. "May I offer a word of advice?"

Henry succeeded in swallowing a laugh and looked at Annie seriously. "I listen to all wisdom, oh, mini M&M."

Okay, thought Oklahoma, maybe this guy isn't so bad. She studied the strength of his arms imagining them lifting . . .. Oklahoma.

"When you tell Mama's fortune," Annie began, "don't say anything about knights in shining armor. Ever since Daddy left us she doesn't like talk like that. I head her tell Mrs. Thomas that that's a pile of --"

"Annie!" said Oklahoma gently but firmly placing a hand over the little girl's mouth. She covered her face and groaned. As long as they were passing out secrets, why not have duplicates made of her safety deposit box key and just pass them out.

"But --" the little girl began and Oklahoma saw her lip trembling.

"It's okay, sweetie," she said putting an arm around Annie, pulling her close, and kissing the silky red hair. "It's okay," she repeated and then her eye caught Henry's. Could one eye undress you? Well, it was doing a pretty good job. What was he thinking?

She's single.

He was grinning underneath that shawl but it definitely wasn't that innocent puppy grin. It was seductive and slow as he studied her face not missing a thing as his eyes trailed down to where her breasts would be under her costume and she swore she saw his eyes darken even more as his imagination took over.

She's single.

Oklahoma's mouth felt very dry and she tried to swallow. He'd thought, yes, that was it, he'd thought she was married. But --

She's single. Oh, Henry.

-- He had the nerve looking at her like that with his wife and kids standing not five feet away. And she had thought Sean was a jerk. At least he wasn't a womanizer.

"You were going to say, Mr. Cork?" asked Oklahoma coolly.

The Arctic blast just managed to penetrate the heat collecting in Henry's body. What had happened? Those beautiful blue eyes were glistening like chips of ice. Okay. He exhaled. On with the show.

Oklahoma flopped her hand down on the table with the resounding slap of a dead fish. Henry didn't dare touch it. He almost packed it in right then and there and then he saw the look on Annie's face.

"I see, I see," he began as the candle flickered mysteriously on the windless night, "a dog."

"What kind, what kind?" insisted Annie.

"A big dog."

Oklahoma shot darts out of her eyes. What was he thinking? She could only guess -- but it was a good guess -- as he winked quickly at her.

"Yes, a big dog, a neighborhood dog."

Annie frowned. "A neighborhood dog?"

"Yeah," Henry said softly and bent his head toward the little girl's so the shawl slipped off. Oh, how he hoped this worked. "You see I've wanted a dog, too. But I haven't gotten one because I didn't think I could give it enough attention either. Your Mom is right. You've got to be careful about these things."

Bless this man.

"But if you helped me pick it out," continued Henry very intently, "and came over to play with it, we could share it. We could walk it together and bathe it together. What do you think?" He held his breath.

"Mama! That's great," cried the little girl throwing her arms around Oklahoma's neck and then turning her attention toward Henry. "Could he sleep at my house, too, sometime?"

Henry looked quickly at Oklahoma and she gave a slight nod. "If it's okay with your Mom, it's okay with me."

Annie looked at Oklahoma with five and a half years of hope in her eyes.

"That," said Oklahoma with more relief than she had felt in years, "would be fine with me," she continued smiling and swore she heard every parent on the porch exhale and begin to disperse before Henry conjured up an even more complicated prediction for their child. Oklahoma was just gathering her wits to make the same hasty exit when she noticed the three individuals standing in the doorway. Gad. What was this guy's wife and kids going to think about his hasty decision to get a dog and share it with the little girl next door?

She was suddenly aware of Annie tugging on her sleeve. "When can we get it, Mama?"

"Well, uh, that's really up to Mr. Cork, sweetie," she said sneaking a glance toward the doorway to the surprised but smiling trio.

"Henry."

"I beg your pardon."

Henry grinned. "Henry. Call me Henry. Afterall, we're going to be neighbors."

Oklahoma gulped. "Right. Okay."

"And you're Annie," he said turning his attention to the excited child.

"Yes, yes," she said excitedly. "When can we get the dog?"

Henry smiled at Oklahoma. "If it's okay with your Mama, we'll go this Saturday. That will give me a couple of days to get unpacked and make sure the fence is secure. Okay?"

Annie turned her bright eyes to Oklahoma.

"Sounds okay to me," said Oklahoma trying to hide the hesitation in her voice. "Uh, yeah, maybe we can go after the picnic."

"Oh, say," said Henry folding the scarf as he saw his audience passing on the Easter candy and moving on. "I don't want to interfere with your plans."

"You're not really," said Oklahoma still very aware of his wife standing in the doorway and feeling even more awkward if that was possible. Time to make this official. She began to dig a little frantically in her Halloween bag for a flier. "Actually, I had meant to invite you to the picnic."

Henry grinned. This was working out okay. "You were going to invite me to a picnic?"

Oklahoma's head snapped up and her mouth dropped open, again, when she saw the look in his eye. "Oh, no, I mean, yes, well, it's -- everyone is invited," she finally managed to blurt out and gestured toward Karen and the pirates.

Henry kept grinning and shook his head waving Karen back. "Oh, Karen and the kids will be long gone by then. So you'll just have to put up with me."

And she'd thought Sean could be callous.

She felt a tug and realized this Mr. Cork was gently pulling the flier from her hand. He gave it a quick look. "Oh, I see," he said trying to hide his disappointment, "it's a neighborhood picnic." He smiled weakly. "That will be fun. And a meeting."

"Yes," said Oklahoma a little too loudly so his wife could hear, "it's a neighborhood picnic for everyone. We have one every fall and spring."

"Why the meeting?" asked Henry. He had his fill of meetings with his work.

"Well, I hate to tell you this since you just moved in," she began and he could see the genuine concern in her eyes, "but a house on the street behind us was vandalized last week."

"Just two doors down from me," said Margie stepping into the light.

Oklahoma saw this man who only minutes before had charmed his daughter with gentle whimsy wad the flier in anger and shake his head. "Was anyone hurt?"

"Nope," said Margie, "and nothing taken. But about $40,000 in computer equipment smashed."

Henry winced. His investments in computers sitting so innocently in the downstairs bedroom he was converting to an office were worth triple that, just for a beginning. Still, that could be replaced. Lives couldn't.

His eyes shifted quickly from Oklahoma to the miniature of her inspecting her candy. They lived alone over there. They need some protection. But he had the feeling that this incredible woman who was able to look beautiful and dignified and lovely while modeling the silliest costume he'd ever seen wasn't about to accept his help for a little protection. What had her daughter said? Knights in shining armor obviously didn't rank high on her list. Her husband must have been a Class A jerk to walk away from her and Annie. He'd only known her for five minutes and he was trying to think of a way to get her stay a little longer, if only for thirty seconds.

"Well, I appreciate the warning," said Henry smoothing out the flier and stuffing it in his pocket. "And I definitely will be at the picnic," he said to Margie as she began to gather up her crew and make her way down the sidewalk. He turned his attention back to Oklahoma. "Maybe I could go with you and Annie," he tried to say innocently. "That is, if you wouldn't mind. I don't know where this park is."

"It's down the street and around the corner," said Oklahoma. "You can't miss it."

"Well, my sense of direction isn't too good," grinned Henry politely. Although I zeroed in on you rather quickly, he thought.

"Better than your manners," Oklahoma suddenly heard a female voice interject. "Hi, " said the tall woman who had stepped onto the porch and was extending her hand. "Henry is ready to have you take him to a picnic and he hasn't even asked your name," she laughed.

Oklahoma warmed to the woman instantly but smiled rather stiffly. Was this an open marriage or what? "Oklahoma," she said taking the woman's hand in a firm shake, "Oklahoma Lansing. And my daughter --"

"Annie, of course," she said. Then she stopped and looked back at Oklahoma. "Wait a minute. You're the Kitchen Spirit woman that Aunt Rose talked about all the time. Oh," she began, "I love my Kitchen Spirit. I just got the new catalogue when I got her Christmas outfit. It's great. And last year's Valentine dress! That red satin was fan-tastic! Have you done the beach stuff yet for the summer?"

"Finished it last week. And thank you," said Oklahoma blushing. "Margie and I like what we do. We're glad you enjoy it." She'd never gotten used to this part of her success.

"Oh, Henry," the woman continued, "you must have read about Ms. Lansing and Ms. Thomas in one of those business magazines you're always reading."

Trust me, I would have remembered Ms. Lansing.

"Say," she said laying a friendly hand on Oklahoma's arm, "the article I saw said you work out of your home. Do you think I could come over some time and see how you make these things?"

"Oh, any time you want," said Oklahoma.

"Well, I don't know how often I'll be in the neighborhood. I'll give you a call before I just pop in," she said.

What? "Well, couldn't you just look at the window? I mean if my car . . .." Oklahoma began more than a little confused.

"Oh, I don't live here," laughed Karen and gave Henry a playful punch. "Lord help the woman who could live my brother," she said.

Brother.

"I mean this man even organizes his socks," she continued.

The socks. Why is it always my socks, thought Henry.

Karen continued, oblivious to the fireworks suddenly ricocheting off the porch. "Me and my five sisters drove this guy crazy growing up. He couldn't get out of the house fast enough after college."

Brother. He's single.

"Mom, is Uncle Henry going to take us out for candy or are you?" said one of the pirates.

"Oh, I am sugar," Karen said turning her attention to her anxious two. "Uncle Henry probably wants to start unpacking. Come on."

Uncle. He's single.

"Nice meeting you, Oklahoma," she said. "My goodness, where are my manners? I'm Karen Dillon. I hope to get by to see you soon."

Oklahoma smiled as she watched the young woman usher her kids out into the night and then shyly turned her eyes back to Henry Cork.

Henry's hand was extended and engulfed Oklahoma's. "I'm glad we got the dog thing worked out, Ms. Lansing," he said.

"Please. Call me Oklahoma," she said smiling. "And this young lady is Annie Lansing. Annie, this is our new neighbor, Henry Cork."

"That's going to be hard, Mama," said the little girl. "Enwy Cowok," she said obliterating any trace of R's in his name.

"That's okay, sugar," said Oklahoma. "It will be a good name to practice on. In the mean time, call him Aitch."

Henry's mouth dropped open.

"That okay with you, Mr. Cork?" asked Oklahoma with a sassy look in her eye.

"Uh, fine, just fine," he said. "I'll see you Saturday, Annie. Maybe we can go after the picnic to find our dog."

"Okay!" she yelled as she jumped from the porch and Oklahoma followed her down the steps.

Henry began to smile. No one, I mean no one, had ever called him anything but Henry at home and Mr. Cork at work. Aitch. Why didn't that bother him? Probably because nothing was bothering him like those legs making their way down his walk.

"Trick or treat!"

Must be about five foot two. Tops.

"Trick or treat!"

Those legs were about two thirds of her. He wondered . . ..

"Mister."

And she lived right across the street.

"Hey, mister, are you handing out candy or not?"

Henry suddenly looked down at a rather impatient Dracula and absently dumped half of the bag of old candy into the indignant monster's bag.

"Happy Easter," he said half-heartedly as his eyes strained down the block.

"Yeah. Right."

It was after midnight when Henry finally heard the satisfied hum of his computer kick in and he sat down to work. He had a meeting at 9:30 in the morning with a new client, which meant he'd be up most of the night getting ready. He should have never scheduled a meeting the morning after he moved in but then he had no idea it would be such an evening. Halloween was busy enough. Karen and her brood hadn't left until after ten. She'd promised to be back next week with her nieces in tow to help Henry some more and, he knew, explore the attic. There was a particularly intriguing trunk up there that they had yet to be able to get open. It seemed to have a will of its own. And every niece just knew it contained clothes for the perfect dress up. Yes, there was definitely a crowbar in its future. Remembering his sisters' flocks he made a note to make sure there was film in the camera.

Henry stretched out his long legs as the computer screen flickered in front of him. He was a lucky man. He loved his work. In between knocking down equal-sized players on opposing football teams in college, Henry had excelled in math. Most of his fellow classmates had gone on to teach, but Henry used his calculations for polls and predictions. What had that detective from "Dragnet" always said: "Just the facts, ma'am." Henry could take those facts and put them to use. With great success.

He normally couldn't wait to get started on his work. But tonight his mind was elsewhere. He closed his eyes and there was that aroma of chocolate and roses. And Oklahoma.

Henry's eyes flew open. Oklahoma! He rubbed his eyes. Well, damn. No denying it. Those legs. That sassy look she gave him when she realized he was single. The softness in her eyes when she looked at her daughter. Yeah. He was thinking about Oklahoma. All of her. Just what was under that candy-coated shell? He could only imagine, but then Henry had a good imagination. He would be busy for the next couple of days but then he'd see her at the picnic and what with the dog and all.

Lord. What had he done? He didn't need a dog. Oh, he liked dogs but the thought of an oversized puppy chewing through his computer cords gave him the shivers. Well, he'd just have to cover the cords because he'd said he was going to get a dog with Annie and he wasn't about to go back on his promise. He had no evidence but from the limited comments about her dad he had the feeling she's been disappointed before. He frowned angrily. How could anyone do that to a child? He wouldn't.

Besides, if he and Annie were sharing the dog he was bound to see a little more of Oklahoma. Yeah.

Yeah. Like it would make any difference, thought Henry as he sipped a cup of freshly brewed black coffee. He'd plugged in his coffeemaker before plugging in the computer. Both machines shared equal importance when you routinely worked all night. He tried to focus on the computer screen. Like it would make any difference.

His mother had always told him he was nice looking, but then mothers always do, Henry thought smiling. Still. He did seem able to attract women. His oversized frame had kept off the weight since football days and his thick, wiry, sandy-colored hair hadn't taken on any gray yet. He was strong. Someone his size would be. But he'd overheard his sister Karen tell one of her kids not to be afraid of Uncle Henry even though he was so big, that Uncle Henry was gentle, that you could tell from his kind eyes. He took that as a compliment, but it didn't seem to help him get dates.

Maybe there was some truth in what his pesty youngest sister Patsy said.

"You're a hunk, Henry. All my friends agree. But you're an old fashioned hunk. Get with the program, Bro, we're approaching 2000."

Henry shook his head. What was it? One of those left brain/right brain things? Why could he operate, program, take apart and put back together the most sophisticated computers on the market, but when it came to romance he was stuck, well, he was stuck, where? Somewhere back in time. Before World War II he imagined. For heaven's sake, he didn't even think of it as dating. In his mind, it was always courting. He could just hear Patsy and her college friends if he ever let that slip out. He remembered vividly her response when he had asked one of her friends on a date and had brought her a box of candy.

"Oh, Henry," she proclaimed rolling her eyes, "a new CD maybe. But candy! You know the saying, 'You can't be too thin . . .."

But you can be, thought Henry, and that thought immediately took him back to Oklahoma's legs. Slender, shapely, but definitely not too thin. Just the right curves for his hand to rest on. For a beginning.

Funny, he thought refilling his cup, and finding his most recent spreadsheet, always before he'd been able to put a woman out of his mind. Work had been his solace. But this time.

Wait a minute. Henry sat his coffee cup down so quickly the hot coffee splashed onto his hand. He ignored it. Maybe. Just maybe. True. He'd been a failure when it came to romance. But he'd been an overwhelming success in his business. Shoot. Maybe he'd been wrong about making predictions for romance. Maybe if he used the same calculations and made the same sort of plans he expertly made to get candidates elected and market new products, he could have the same success with Oklahoma and romance.

Suddenly Henry stopped. He felt his belly warm and tighten as he felt the same arousing feeling he was beginning to recognize every time he thought about Oklahoma which over the past several hours had been all the time. This woman was different. He wanted her. Very much. And that feeling wasn't particularly old fashioned. It was timeless. This time he was not going to fail. He chuckled as he began to click on his computer. He'd never really cared about properly courting a woman before right now. This time he would succeed.

He needed sustenance for such a project. Henry grabbed a hunk of cheese from the fridge, and some less than fresh crackers from the dining room table and devised a plan for love the only way he knew how. On his beloved computer.

Three hours, two boxes of crackers, a very old box of Thin Mint Girl Scout Cookies, and two pots of too strong coffee later, Henry was finished. His document, efficiently saved as "Courting Oklahoma," was complete. It had been tougher than he had imagined. But it was all there. And he was sure that if followed properly, just like the plan for the recent mayoral election or the marketing of his latest computer game, a successful romance would be the final result.

He yawned and thought about his meeting in the morning. There would be a lot of thinking on his feet but he'd make it. He'd improvise. What? Henry couldn't believe he was thinking that. He never went anywhere with every 'i' dotted. What had gotten into him?

He shrugged the kink out of his shoulders and padded into the kitchen with his assortment of dirty dishes and deposited them in the sink. He had just turned to go when something caught his eye. It was that little Kitchen Spirit dangling over the sink. She was moving just a little like an evening breeze had caught her. But there was no wind and the window was closed.

Henry reached out carefully to still the little lady and the little scroll she had been clutching dropped into his hand.

"Well, of all the . . ." Henry muttered as he loosened the silver cord and unrolled the little piece of parchment. It was a map. A very tiny, very simple map pointing the direction to the park where the neighborhood picnic was gong to be this Saturday. Henry squinted his eyes to make out the miniscule writing at the bottom of the map.

"So you won't lose your direction," he read slowly.

No signature. No hint as to whom had written it.

"What the . . ." Henry mumbled shaking his head. "I mean, who could have . . . not Karen," he puzzled. Oklahoma hadn't come in the house. And even if she had…

He looked back at the Kitchen Spirit innocently nestled on the sliver of moon and -- wait a minute, did she wink? Henry shook his head and reached for a Russell Stover chocolate that wasn't there. Just the aroma.

Lord, he thought shaking his head again; I'm just too tired. That's all. That's all. Henry Cork did not hallucinate. Okay, he fantasized a little. He absently stuffed the little map in his pocket and flipped off the kitchen light. This isn't even happening he said aloud and then stopped before he started carrying on a full-blown conversation with himself.

He checked the front door and took a quick look at Oklahoma's house. Everything looked okay. But he didn't like the idea of Oklahoma and her daughter across the street alone with vandals on the loose. He had a feeling this feisty lady wouldn't like it if she knew he was keeping a protective eye on her house. She was one independent woman and he'd gotten it almost first hand that she didn't think much of knights in shining armor.

He smiled. But it wouldn't be hard to keep a watchful eye on her house once he put his plan into action which would be -- he flicked the light up dial on his watch -- in less than 12 hours.

Yeah. This was going to work. Damn. It better work, thought Henry as he mounted the stairs to bed with a short detour to the shower. Cold water was definitely in order. Okay, he thought stripping quickly down to his well-toned muscles and stepping into the stinging spray, it wasn't part of the program, but then when he'd been working at the computer his brain had been doing the thinking.

Chapter Three

"Mama, you've overslept."

Oklahoma's eyes flew open and then she felt the blush creep over her face. She hadn't been sleeping at all and she knew exactly what time it was. No. She hadn't overslept. In fact, if the phone had rung at the moment and someone had been calling to survey her on her activities -- and she knew exactly who she'd like that someone to be -- she could tell him precisely what she had been doing. Thinking, correct that, fantasizing about Henry Cork.

Oh, Henry Cork. What she had thought about him doing.

But you couldn't exactly explain that to a kindergartner.

"I'm awake now, Annie. Thank you! Give me a minute and I'll start breakfast."

Oklahoma heard the little girl clomp down the hall. Must have on her cowboy boots this morning, she smiled as she swung her legs out of bed and reached for her overalls. She'd dress for her meeting at the bank after she dropped off Annie at kindergarten. Her partner Margie Thomas wasn't going to the meeting. Oklahoma was the business side. She knew the numbers. Margie organized the assembly, and they both did the creative work. The meeting would take at least an hour. Then she'd promised to get some of that bubblegum-flavored frozen yogurt Annie loved so much. But she had time because Margie said she'd pick up Annie and she could stay at her house until Oklahoma got home.

She buckled her suspenders.

Okay, okay. Get going. Get moving.

So if everything went okay at the bank -- and it just had to -- the architect was going to meet with her and Margie at 2:30 and that would take about two hours. Then she'd have a little time to take Annie to the library for some books on dogs and then around five the seamstresses who assembled the Kitchen Spirit were coming by for coffee and an update meeting and then if it wasn't too late . . ..

Henry Cork.

She stopped trying to make some order of her disorderly cap of red curls and felt her face warm again.

What was it about that man? Oh, some of it was obvious. He was handsome. He was kind. He had a body she couldn't stop thinking about. She had a feeling he was intelligent. Probably responsible. But it had been something else and she'd spent half the night trying to figure it out and the other half fantasizing about it once she did. It had been the way his eyes had darkened, positively burned when he looked at her. And it had been just for her. Oklahoma had seen the way his eyes laughed when he talked to Annie and settled into a quiet patience when he spoke with his sister.

But his eyes had said everything he wanted each time he'd looked at Oklahoma and she wouldn't forget that and couldn't stop thinking about what he wanted. She'd finally turned the radio on the oldie-but-goodie station at 4:00 in the morning to sing softly along and try to ignore the ache in her breasts as she thought about her new neighbor. If he had appeared at her bedroom door and declared he was going to kiss every inch of her body she probably would have said yes. Probably? Definitely, she thought straightening the covers on her bed. Gad. She'd never had thoughts like that about Sean. Not before they were married and certainly not after they were married.

She smoothed the pillows and bedspread. Sean had gone through the motions. Period. Motions for himself. Never for her. She didn't miss his touch. She could barely remember it. It certainly hadn't been like, well, nothing had ever felt like the fleeting touch of this Henry Cork as he had pulled her back onto the porch to predict her future.

No. Just remembering. She could feel the heat. What would it be like? How would he feel? Such a large man. Such a gentle man. But the desire in those eyes.

"Mom! Mrs. Thomas brought doughnuts!" There was a pause and a squeal. "Jelly!"

"Coming, Annie!" called Oklahoma as she stepped into her tennis shoes. What was she thinking? The last thing she needed in her life was a man. She had a beautiful daughter. A growing, successful business. Good friends. A nice, new neighbor -- Oklahoma! Damn. He and Annie could share their dog but she wasn't about to share her bed with anyone. Been there, done that with Sean. That had been enough. Thankfully, he was gone and she'd built a new life. A life she wasn't about to jeopardize for the sandy-haired hunk across the street. Hunk? Hunk! What was she? Sixteen with her first crush? Oklahoma tied her shoes with such determination she had to retie them for fear she'd cut off her circulation. Sixteen, my foot, she thought as she started down the stairs. She was a twenty-six year old businesswoman with a career and responsibilities. There!

She paused briefly at the bottom of the stairs as she headed toward the kitchen and adjusted a framed picture of Annie that hung on the wall. She gave her t-shirt a final tug and paused to efficiently plump some pillows on the couch. The wooden floors shown from the lemony wax she'd applied just the day before yesterday and she looked with satisfaction at the new windows that lined the walls and let the sun pour in. Oh, how Sean had hated those windows. Oklahoma had found them in the alley behind the window store and convinced the owner she was doing him a favor hauling them away. Sean had been appalled.

"You were digging in the garbage! That's worse than those garage sales," he had exclaimed with distaste. "Did anyone see you?"

Just the owner, she'd assured him, as she dragged them into the garage and began the four-month project of refinishing them. He'd been gone before they had their last coat of varnish. Last time he'd come by to see Annie -- Oklahoma couldn't even remember when that had been -- Sean had given her a rare compliment by saying he was glad she had come to her senses and gotten new windows.

"Those are the old ones," she'd told him as he sipped a scotch and water. "I finally finished them and got them installed."

He'd muttered something Oklahoma was grateful Annie hadn't heard and left soon after that.

Oklahoma was proud of the house. She folded the afghan her mother-in-law had made for her and surveyed the comfortable clutter that surrounded a profusion of herbs and hardy houseplants. Warm, relaxing, homey -- how Sean had hated it.

She bet Mr. Cork would like it, she thought, mentally asking him to settle on the green checked sofa and serving him a little hazelnut coffee with her special spiced poundcake. What a pleasant way to spend the afternoon. Talking, cuddling, leisurely kisses . . ..

Oklahoma! I will not think about those large hands sprinkled with that wheat-colored hair and how they would feel -- I won't!

She punched the last pillow a little harder than necessary and marched into the ivy-wallpapered kitchen.

"Margie," Oklahoma said so loudly that her neighbor jumped off the kitchen chair, "what are you doing here so early?"

Margie took a sip of coffee and began to peruse the white bakery box for her second pastry. "Well, I just thought I could drop off Annie at school and that would give you a little more time to get ready for your meeting at the bank. Maybe you wouldn't be so rushed. What do you think?" she asked settling for a Bismarck.

"I think you're a godsend," said Oklahoma reaching for her white coffee mug with a very shaky "Mom" painted on it. "And I also think you pick out great doughnuts," she added laughing and settling at the table between Margie's kids and Annie. "Did you save me a jelly?"

"No, I got you the tofu-stuffed, wheat bread Long John," she said with a wink. "Yes, of course we saved you a jelly. Even got yours with extra grease. You'd better grab fast," said Margie watching the kids down the sugary doughnuts. "I just thought it wouldn't hurt to indulge in some nervous eating before you laid our business on the line. You can have a healthy lunch."

Oklahoma smiled and rolled her eyes. "I agree. I'm ready for the meeting. I've been over the figures so many times I know them by heart. But," she said carefully dunking the jelly doughnut in her steaming coffee, "I'll still be glad when this is over and I know we have the loan and the blessing from the bank for the warehouse."

"I know you will be. I bet you hardly got any sleep last night thinking about this meeting," said Margie refilling her coffee cup.

"You're right about that," she said. At least about part of it. "Five minutes, guys. You don't want to be late."

"How long do you think you'll be at the bank?" asked Margie.

"Well," said Oklahoma finishing off the last of the doughnut and wondering about the wisdom of one more, "I wouldn't think too much longer than an hour. It's pretty cut and dry. I have the figures. Estimates from builders. The rationale. I mean, right now Kitchen Spirit Inc. is spread all over tour town of Bantam. We have inventory in about six different garages. The mail order stuff is overflowing Dee Dee's family room. The Kitchen Spirit might be a tiny character but she takes up a lot of room. I figure some of our seamstresses will continue to work out of their homes so they can be with their kids, but some will want to work in the new facility. And having all the supplies, marketing, mailing, you name it, all under one roof will be about a thousand times more efficient."

"You don't have to convince me," smiled Margie. "And I don't think it will be too hard to convince the bank. Walter Adams is fair and reliable." She gave Oklahoma's hand a pat. "Good luck," she said and stood up. "Kids, get your backpacks and wash your hands. We need to get going." She reached into the pocket of her jeans. "Speaking of the Kitchen Spirit, as if we ever speak of anything else, I like your new idea."

Oklahoma looked up from her coffee.

"New idea?"

"You were wondering if I'd notice, weren't you? Kind of trying it out. Well, it worked."

Oklahoma continued to stare with a puzzled expression as she watched her friend unroll the tiny piece of parchment she'd pulled from her jeans.

"I have to admit, I don't quite get the message, but I love the idea. We could have preprinted messages and a couple of blank sheets and -- what's wrong? Are you sick?"

"I don't -- Margie, what are you talking about?" Oklahoma was finally able to stammer.

"What am I talking about?" Margie asked in surprise. "Well, the little note your Kitchen Spirit was holding when I came in this morning."

Oklahoma glanced over at her little lady sitting innocently on her crescent moon. She would have sworn that for just an instant the mischievous sprite had looked away.

No! Oh, lord, she should have gotten more sleep last night. What was she thinking?

"Could I see that? Please?" she asked reaching across the table. Margie handed her the delicate little note and Oklahoma carefully unrolled it.

"It almost reads like a grocery list. Not too interesting. But it certainly got my attention," said Margie watching Oklahoma. "Made me hungry, though. Let's see, what did it say? Fried chicken. Creamy coleslaw. Cherry tomatoes. Oatmeal cookies. Lemonade. Almost sounds like picnic food. The only part that made sense was that little line at the bottom."

"The way to a man's heart . . .." read Oklahoma squinting her eyes to read the tiny message.

"Yeah. Why did you put that?"

Oklahoma looked up at Margie slowly, her blue eyes wide, and her fair skin more than a little pale. "Margie, I didn't put any of this. I don't even know where this note came from."

Margie gave her a puzzled expression and the smiled. "Oh, you're teasing, Oklahoma. You almost had me going for a minute. Good marketing," she said reaching for her car keys. "Mysterious little notes from the Kitchen Spirit -- for your kids, your spouse, your lover. I like it. But I have to tell you. A grocery list doesn't seem quite right."

"But, but," stammered Oklahoma still staring at the note.

"Don't worry about Annie. Take your time at the bank, but call me the instant you get home. I'll keep my fingers crossed." She grabbed her purse. "Kids! Let's go."

"Margie, you don't understand -"

"Well, it's going to have to wait or we're going to be late," said Margie opening the front door. "See ya', kiddo!"

Oklahoma groaned. Loudly. This was all she needed. One hour before one of the most important meetings of her life and, and this, well, this whatever it was spirits itself into her morning coffee. Spirits? Maybe that wasn't such a bad word for it. How else would it have gotten here?

Oklahoma gathered up the discarded doughnuts and napkins and closed the white bakery box. Margie had given her this extra time. She'd best use it wisely, she thought as she wiped the kitchen table quickly and refreshed her coffee. She had just deposited Margie's cup in the sink when the Kitchen Spirit caught her eye.

"What are you thinking, little lady," mused Oklahoma as she inspected the little imp. Oklahoma's was the original spirit. A little rough around the edges, but a truly unique little character. Oklahoma remembered vividly the day she and Margie had come up with the idea. Margie had been on her knees in the backyard weeding out the pumpkins and Oklahoma had been re-staking her tomatoes and before Oklahoma knew it she had blurted out her idea to Margie. Margie had run in the house for a pad of paper and within thirty minutes had sketched out seven outfits for the little woman.

"I can picture her clothes," Margie had said furiously chewing on her pencil like she always did when she was thinking, "but her face. Any ideas?"

"I can only see her one way," Oklahoma had said brushing the dirt from her knees and hands.

"How's that, kiddo?" said Margie still chewing.

"I see Miss Rose," said Oklahoma tying an old piece of nylon around the tomato stake. "That fluffy, wavy white hair. Those light blue eyes. Delicate, rosy cheeks. And I think you do, too. I mean the clothes you designed look exactly like the clothes she wears."

"My God, you're right," said Margie quickly sketching in a likeness of Miss Rose and presenting it to Oklahoma with her usual flare. "I give you- TA ah- the Kitchen Spirit."

The rest of the afternoon had been given up to Margie's capable hands on her sewing machine and eleven o'clock that night they had it and there it had hung over Oklahoma's sink as their success had grown.

A week later they'd had tea with Miss Rose and presented her with the perfected little woman.

Oklahoma remembered the tears in Miss Rose's eyes as she held the little doll up and said, "Why it's me, isn't it?" And then she had laughed with delight as Margie and Oklahoma had shown her their plans. But when she had tried to hand the little doll back, Oklahoma had covered the delicate hand with her own.

"Oh, no, Miss Rose," she'd said, "this one is for you. I have a lumpy little original. Margie can't keep from tearing up and re-sewing," she said winking at her laughing friend, "but you were our inspiration, so you should have the first."

"Now I am truly honored," she'd said cradling the little creature and then eyeing Margie and Oklahoma with that twinkle in her eye. "And you know what this means, don't you? "

Both young women looked a little puzzled and shook their heads.

"When I'm long gone my spirit will live on in this little doll." Miss Rose threw back her head and laughed gaily. "I'll always be around interfering in someone's life," she smiled with a very pleased look.

"I'd hardly call you the interfering type," said Margie reaching for another sugar cookie.

"Hah," exclaimed Miss Rose, her blue eyes twinkling over her cup of tea, "tell that to my great nephew. I've been playing matchmaker with him for years, poor boy, and I don't intend to stop once I'm dead and gone. Now he'll be hearing from me without the benefit of that cell phone that's constantly stuck to his ear."

Margie and Oklahoma had laughed at the image of the high-powered businessman badgered by the delicate but very determined Miss Rose.

"Ah, yes," she'd sighed with great satisfaction as her wrinkled hands had carefully touched the Kitchen Spirit, "I'll give all those long distance companies a real run for their money."

That had been over five years ago and now as Oklahoma stood in her kitchen she wondered if Miss Rose . . . No, thought Oklahoma dumping the rest of her coffee in the sink. Impossible. For goodness' sake, this was a little stuffed doll fashioned from scraps from Margie's sewing room.

Oklahoma efficiently turned on the faucet to wash away the remains of her coffee. She needed to get ready for her meeting at the bank. Enough of this foolishness. She didn't know where that little note had come from. It didn't really matter. What mattered was her warehouse for her business.

Oklahoma turned to head upstairs and then stopped. What the . . . that mesmerizing aroma certainly wasn't the leftover doughnuts. It was -- she sniffed -- chocolate and roses. Chocolate and roses! The wonderful smell that had always teased her senses when she'd visited Miss Rose's. Oklahoma turned back to the sink and looked the little Spirit right in the eye.

"What's going on?" she said and unconsciously felt for the tiny picnic menu stuffed in her overall pocket. She pulled it out and read over the list again and the sighed. "Okay. You win. I guess. I mean, I have to make a picnic for this Saturday and this all sounds pretty good to me. And it would only be neighborly to make enough for Mr. Cork since he's new. And it wouldn't be that much trouble to make enough for three --" she paused and considered Henry's size -- "or four, and have I totally lost my mind standing here talking to myself when I have something I need to do? Gad," she exclaimed throwing up her hands and whirling around to face the Spirit. "Are you satisfied, Miss Rose?"

Oklahoma stomped out of the kitchen and was halfway up the stairs when it occurred to her that she had never noticed until just now had tightly Margie had stitched that little Spirit's smile.

Walter Adams, the vice president in charge of commercial loans, replaced the phone receiver and stood up extending his hand to Henry.

"I'm looking forward to working with you, Mr. Cork," he said grasping Henry's hand firmly.

"Henry, please."

"Henry, then," said the banker in his professional but friendly tone. "I know your marketing surveys have resulted in great things. Ready to get started?"

"That's why I'm here," smiled Henry. He knew he was going to like working with this man. He was a good listener and seemed genuinely concerned about the bank and its customers.

"My secretary told me my first appointment is in the conference room. Thought you might want to join me to get a feel for our present clientele."

"Sounds perfect," he said and ducked his head slightly to stifle a yawn. He'd finally gone to sleep about 4:30 in the morning but even then his sleep had been fitful and filled with dreams of large bowls of M&M's. Mmmm. Henry wasn't a candy lover but they had been delicious as had the red-haired lady who had been feeding them to him dressed in, well, nothing but the loveliest skin he'd ever imagined. He didn't need Freud to tell him where this dream had come from.

After about six cups of coffee and the leftover Easter candy -- he'd neglected to get milk for all that cereal -- he had finally cleared his head and made it to his appointment. He just hoped he'd be able to keep his eyes open through this meeting. Henry wasn't a napper either but he promised himself he'd take a quick one in the afternoon before he strolled casually -- part of the plan -- across the street to pass the time of day with Oklahoma and ask her to dinner tomorrow night. Then Phase 1 of Courting Oklahoma would be underway. A study from three years ago had shown that three out of five women would accept a date with a man after only one meeting if the man were 1) employed and 2) at least four inches taller than they were. Henry qualified on both counts and after running the numbers it appeared to be 95% certain that Oklahoma would say yes to tomorrow night. The restaurant survey he'd conducted less than a year ago had revealed that the best place for a first date needed to be 1) casual, 2) near water, 3) have white tablecloths and cloth napkins, and 4) low light, not necessarily candles. He'd done a quick cross-reference on the computer and Carlton's Landing near the local lake fit all the criteria.

He smiled as he and Walter Adams made their way to the conference room and then frowned as he realized he hadn't been listening to a word the man had said.

" . . . So you can see this client is