ago. You’ve lost a lot of your honeyed drawl, Miss Daniels.”
Maddie didn’t like the way he’d taken over the interview or the way he had begun to probe into her personal life. He was good at it, too. She had moved north to be with a man—the man who, as of nine months ago, had become her ex-husband.
Turning her tone to one of frosted efficiency, she said, “That’s not really important. The point of this interview is for me to gather enough information to put together a basic personality sketch of you. I know your time is valuable, so, if you don’t mind, I’ll ask the questions. Health?” she repeated.
His lips thinned into a serious line, and he answered rather pointedly, “My health is excellent. I’ve been out of circulation too long to have caught anything deadly.”
She bobbled the coffee she’d been about to sip, although she managed not to spill any of it on her blouse. “What kind of woman would you say you prefer?”
It was his turn to be uncomfortable. He straightened in his seat and twirled the spoon in the sugar bowl. “I don’t know. I’m not very particular.”
Hogwash, Maddie thought. Cameron Foley would be very particular. Any man who would drive into Traverse City during the height of tourist season to protest a dating service’s mass mailing clearly had an opinion on more than mere marketing practices.
“I can’t do my job if you’re not candid. We had a deal, Mr. Foley.”
“Cameron,” he corrected her, sounding slightly irritated. “My friends call me Cam. Since you’re digging into my personal life, I’m thinking you should at least call me by my given name.”
“Very well.” She took a deep breath and settled on the more formal moniker. “Cameron.” The word seemed to linger on her tongue like peppermint candy.
“Does this mean I can call you Madison?” She thought he might be teasing her. A light danced in his dark eyes, but his lips remained unbowed.
“Maddie, please. Only my mother calls me Madison. And my father, when I’ve tried his patience.”
“I’ll bet that’s often,” he muttered.
“Excuse me?”
“Nothing. Isn’t Madison an odd name for a girl?” His gaze skimmed down her torso, lingered an uncomfortable moment. “Woman,” he corrected himself.
She felt herself blush. “My father is an American history buff. He’s big on presidents. I have two brothers, Lincoln and Carter.”
“A Republican and a Democrat. At least your father is bipartisan.”
She couldn’t quite stifle the unladylike snort of laughter that would have earned her mother’s censure. “My father’s a dyed-in-the-wool Democrat. That’s why he named my mother’s cat Nixon. Cats are too brazen and calculating to be named after Democrats, he claims.”
“Clearly this was before the Clinton administration,” Cam muttered.
She cleared her throat. “While I find your political views fascinating, I think we should get back to your preferences in women. Do you prefer blondes?”
Some men did, Cam thought, but not him. He’d never found a blonde to be half as sexy as a brunette. Perhaps that was part of his heritage poking through. He glanced at Maddie’s dark cascade of loose curls. The sunlight filtering through the window exposed its burnished highlights. Angela’s hair had been like that, dark and yet full of secrets that could be teased out by the sun. He’d loved to touch her hair, to bury his fingers in it. The memory made him ache.
“Blondes,” he blurted out. Trying to sound less defensive he added, “Yeah, I prefer blondes.”
“Tall, petite, slim, um...well-proportioned?”
He noted her discomfort, and the devil made him say, “I like tall women. And I like them to have a little meat on their bones. A little more meat in some places than others, if you know what I mean.”
She scribbled something on the notepad and, without looking up, she asked, “Any other physical attributes you find appealing, Mr., um, Cameron?”
“Legs. Long legs with thin ankles. Oh, and small feet. Nothing over size seven.”
He thought she might have rolled her eyes, but she kept her head slightly bent as she continued, “Do you have an age range that you would prefer?”
He didn’t really care about age. Angie had been a year older than he. But he stroked his chin, as if considering. “Hmm, how old are you?”
Maddie appeared startled. “Me?”
“Yeah, you.”
She tucked a lush wave of hair behind her ear. It was one of the few utterly female things he’d seen her do, and he found it intriguing. Almost as intriguing as the way that little mole dipped and lifted with her every expression.
“Twenty-eight.” She tucked more hair behind her other ear and moistened her lips before adding, “Last month.”
She looked younger than that right now, despite the eyewear and the formal air she put on.
“Ah, well, you’d be a little old for me, then. I think I’d prefer a woman in her early twenties at this point in my life,” Cam replied.
She definitely rolled her eyes at that, although she tried to hide it by pushing up her glasses. But her tone remained professional and impassive when she continued with, “Do you have a problem with a woman who was married and is either divorced or widowed now?”
“No divorcées.”
Maddie stopped writing and hugged the yellow pad of paper to her chest. The pose struck him as oddly defensive.
“Why’s that?”
“I took those same vows, and I made them work. Even when Angela got sick. Even when it got really ugly. ’Til death do us part.’ I’m not interested in someone who can’t keep their end of the bargain.”
Her expression remained clouded, but she nodded. “I can understand that.”
“Good, because I won’t compromise on this point.”
It was just icing on the cake if his stand on principle made it that much harder for her to fix him up. He wondered if that was why she seemed to take it so personally.
“Very well. What about...children? What if the woman either never married or is widowed and has children?”
He slouched back in his chair and folded his arms, the memories swarming him like flies at a barbecue. When he finally spoke, the words seemed to scrape against his throat, leaving it raw and aching.
“I like kids. Angie and I planned to have a big family, perhaps because each of us came from such small families. I’m an only child and Angie has one sister. Caroline was just starting to crawl when Ang first got sick.” He swallowed thickly, but the bitterness and something even more acidic remained. He doubted he would ever forget the terrible panic he’d experienced the day he first heard a doctor say the word cancer.
“So, you don’t mind children,” Maddie prodded, her tone gentle and magnolia-kissed.
“No. I like kids. One of my biggest regrets is that we weren’t able to have more before...I guess I would just prefer someone who got married first.”
“Is that another one of the points on which you won’t compromise?”
“Yes.”
She made a final note before sliding the pen behind her ear. Most of the ballpoint was lost immediately in the wavy mass of mahogany. Again, he found himself thinking that there was something out of place about that hair on Maddie Daniels. In every other way she was a polished, buttoned-down professional. Practical and conservative, almost to the point of being prim. She was a woman who wore classic styles that would look as tidy