is hers, and vice versa.”
Kara set a plate in front of Patrice.
She helped herself to apples and some of the casserole. “There’s a mob over at the B and B. I think they’re looking for you.”
Marcus winked at her. “That’s why I’m over here.”
Kara thought her sister might swoon. A playful wink from Marcus Ambrose would provide at least six to eight months of quality retelling.
It was easy to see why Patrice was so infatuated with him. Marcus was easy on the eyes. But a relationship needed more than smoky eyes and a playful smile. Kara, while not actively looking for companionship, wanted more substance than style, more commitment than flash and dash. That’s why she and Howard Boyd made a great team. Howard didn’t upset her equilibrium.
With intense dark looks that radiated sex appeal both from his album covers and on the big screen, Marcus Ambrose was definitely the flash-and-dash type. Then there was that smile. Kara studiously ignored the little flip in her midsection when that smile—that Tom Cruise, Denzel Washington, Mel Gibson melt-in-your-mouth-not-in-your-hands smile—was aimed her way.
Since at the moment Patrice found herself the lucky benefactor of that gift, Kara figured it was time to make her getaway. Something akin to jealousy flickered through her. Patrice could get cozy with her hero, and Kara could get back to her laundry and then work on the grant application, without distractions.
She had to remind herself that she liked confident men, not cocky ones, and he’d definitely been full of himself last night.
As if on cue, Patrice asked, “So what’s this challenge between you two?”
“There is no challenge,” Kara said. “It was just hype for the television cameras. Mr. Ambrose was merely drumming up attendance and support for the film and music festival.”
“Actually,” he said, the word a slow drawl that Kara found oddly disconcerting, “I was serious. And so were you, Dr. Kara. You were quite passionate in your belief that those in the entertainment industry are a bunch of selfish, self-serving prima donnas.”
Kara winced. “I never said that.”
“But that’s how it came across. What kind of doctor are you, anyway?”
“She’s our resident headshrinker,” Patrice said.
“I am not a psychiatrist.”
Patrice tossed her head, and curls spilled over her shoulder and down her back. “She’s a psychologist. But lately she’s been spending more time cooped up with books than with patients.”
“I don’t maintain an active practice. You know that, Patrice.”
“So you’re writing a book?”
Flattered that he’d think she had the skills to write a book, Kara smiled. But the smile and the good feeling toward him disappeared in the next moment.
“I hope you’re not doing one of those female empowerment books.”
“What’s the matter, Mr. Ambrose, are you afraid that a thinking woman will see beyond the veneer?”
He smiled. “No, Dr. Kara. I’m looking forward to one who has the guts to try.”
Something in his tone—a real challenge, perhaps?—put Kara on alert. She sensed he spoke of more than what he actually said. He’d surprised her last night, and he seemed to have more surprises at the ready. “Forewarned is forearmed, Mr. Ambrose.”
“Let the games begin,” he said.
“See, that’s his problem,” Kara told her best friend a few hours later. She and Haley Cartwright Brandon-Dumaine sat at an outdoor table on the patio café at Pop’s Ice Cream & Malt Shoppe. “Everything’s a game.”
The two women made an eye-catching pair, each wholesomely pretty in her own way—Haley’s golden blond look to Kara’s rich caramel. Friends for years, the two claimed to covet the other’s assets, Haley wanting Kara’s petite figure and Kara wanting Haley’s tall, lush curves.
“Lighten up,” Haley said. “You looked great on television. And just think what the exposure will do for your programs—not to mention that JUMP grant you’re applying for. You could say you’ve appeared with Marcus Ambrose. And that would be true.”
Kara nodded. Getting that JUMPstart Activism community block grant would go a long way toward establishing two of the outreach projects she’d long advocated. According to the program material and the level of funding Kara sought, the granting committee liked applicants to already have established a support base in the community, a base that could be counted on to get the word out and act as foot soldiers.
To those looking in from the outside—people like superstar Marcus Ambrose—Wayside might appear to be an idyllic community, a perfect little slice of Americana. But Wayside had its fair share of problems. From homelessness to poverty.
Patrice was right, and so was Haley. Kara spent more time with her pet projects than she did with some of her original client work. She’d slowly phased that out of her practice, converting it instead into a one-woman resource bank for people in need.
She nodded her agreement, then scooped up the last of the hot fudge on her sundae. “Maybe I can turn this around into something worthwhile.”
Marcus Ambrose wanted to have a little amusement at her expense. Well, Kara could prove her point and win this so-called challenge.
Haley narrowed her eyes at Kara. “I don’t like that look in your eyes.”
Kara smiled and spread out her hands. “I’ve nothing to hide,” she said. “But I’m not above taking advantage of an opportunity.”
“What are you up to?”
“I just figured out how to best Mr. Ambrose at his own game. He wants to carry out this challenge. Well, he can start by picking up some of the slack on the Adopt-a-Spot program.”
Haley’s brown eyes widened. “He’s a star. I don’t think picking up trash is going to sit well. You can’t make him get down and dirty like that.”
Kara’s grin said otherwise. “Then he can help build a house for a low-income family.”
Shaking her head, Haley didn’t look convinced that either plan would work. “Matt is going to invite him to sing at a service one Sunday while he’s here.”
Kara wasn’t too thrilled about Marcus getting ensconced at their church. Haley ran the Sunday school division, while her husband, Matt Brandon-Dumaine, led the music ministry at Community Christian Church. Since he was a former nationally known gospel singer, it stood to reason that he’d want to connect with a fellow musician.
Nevertheless, she would have expected Marcus to hook up with one of the town’s larger churches, one that would showcase him to the largest number of people. With its 250 families, Community Christian was hardly a first stop on a celebrity tour—that, after all, was why Matt had sought refuge there.
“What did Reverend Baines have to say about that?”
Haley flashed her right hand in what was apparently meant as a careless, carefree gesture. Diamonds sparkled. “You know Cliff. He’s always excited about spreading the word through any ministry that will reach people.”
“And what’s this?” Kara reached for her friend’s hand, a twinkle in her eye as she waved her other hand around as Haley had been doing.
“I thought you’d never notice.” A big grin filled Haley’s face as she wiggled her fingers. “Matt gave it to me. To mark our first anniversary.”
Kara appropriately oohed and aahed over the anniversary band. “I can’t believe you guys have been married for a year already. What happened to the time?”
Since the question