a great kid,” Jenna pronounced without hesitation, and fully meant it.
Peggy grinned a plainly proud grin at that compliment to her offspring. “Thanks. Watching you with him, it’s easy to see that you like children, and I’ll bet they generally like you, which goes a long way toward what’s needed to make a good mother, at least as far as I’m concerned.”
Jenna mulled that over for a second. “I guess you have a point there. To me, caring about kids—not just caring for their needs—has to be a prime ingredient in what makes a good mother. And stepmother, too,” she added firmly.
“I don’t see you as a wicked one, that’s for sure,” Peggy murmured with a twinkle in her eye.
But would the two girls she’d met hours earlier come to view her in that light? Jenna knew that was the real question. There might well be rocky times ahead in that area, as their father had frankly conceded. Nevertheless, as he’d also contended, they would ultimately benefit from having a younger woman in their lives. It by no means had to be her, Jenna readily admitted, but having someone around to fill that role would be a plus.
Peggy sat forward. “And now we come to the wife part.”
“Yes, well.” Jenna ran her tongue around her teeth. “That particular subject is far from clear at the moment.”
“You don’t have to be Cynthia,” Peggy assured her, reading her like a book. “You just have to be you.”
“I can only be me,” Jenna replied, realizing the truth of that. When all was said and done, she was who she was, and she’d been comfortable with that for some time. Nonetheless, she also recognized that who she was might suffer in comparison to what many would consider a sterling example of perfect womanhood.
Jenna Lorenzo was by no stretch of the imagination perfect.
“So are you at least going to give this whole thing some real thought?” Peggy asked.
“I suppose I’ll have to,” Jenna said with a wry curve of her lips, “because the man in question has already talked me into going out with him for dinner on Friday night.”
Peggy’s grin came back full force, lighting up her elfin face. “Well, if nothing else, you’ll be going out on a date with Ross Hayward. At one point in my life, I would have stood on my head and sung every rowdy rock tune I knew—backward—to be able to do the same.”
Jenna had to laugh. “Me, too, as well you know.”
But that was long ago, and the upcoming event wasn’t precisely the normal kind of first date. It wouldn’t be a casual get-to-know-you occasion. Or only on the surface, perhaps. Underneath, far more serious matters were in the balance, ones that would demand answers before too long.
With Myra Hastings leaving in a matter of weeks, Ross Hayward had no choice but to make some arrangements. He would either be hiring another housekeeper—which wouldn’t be her, Jenna knew. Or he’d be taking a wife—which might be her.
In fact, he seemed more than willing to consider her for the latter position. The woman she’d become realized it was so, even if the girl who would always remain a part of her still couldn’t quite believe it.
HE WAS RUSTY at this dating business.
Ross couldn’t help but acknowledge that truth as he pulled out a chair for Jenna at one of the quieter eating spots in Harmony. He’d been out of college for only months the last time he’d ventured on a date as a single man. Not long afterward, he’d become a husband, and then years later, a widower with little desire to ask any female out.
Nevertheless, despite his lengthy break from the dating scene, the Mountain Meadows Café had seemed like a good bet for tonight. Not as starchy as the dining room at the Founders Club, where he continued to maintain a membership yet seldom visited these days. And not as casual as the diner where he’d chosen to conduct a job interview with the woman seated across from him, her deep burgundy evening suit providing a colorful contrast to both his own charcoal-brown suit and the pale tablecloth.
“This is nice,” she said, glancing around. Her small ruby earrings sparkled in the flickering glow of the single candle resting in the center of the table.
Again she wore her hair caught back in a thick coil at the nape of her neck. And again he wondered how it would look flowing like a dark waterfall down her back.
He also had to wonder if he would ever find out. If he would ever get the chance the run his hands through those gleaming strands. If…
Ross took in a breath and reined in his wandering thoughts. “The view is one of the best around,” he told his companion.
“It has to be.” Jenna studied a picture-postcard scene through the wall of clear windows beside her. Even in the growing darkness, enough light remained to make out the tall pines dotting the side of a low mountain.
“Would you like a cocktail or some wine to start things off?” he asked.
She opted for white wine, and he ordered a bottle of Chardonnay when the young waiter approached. He’d decided to join her despite the fact that a premium brand of Scotch on the rocks was his usual drink, one a long line of Hayward men had favored. Even his father, he thought, hadn’t broken with tradition there.
Silence fell between them on the waiter’s departure, as if neither knew exactly what to say next, until Ross picked up his menu and offered some comments on meals he’d enjoyed at the Mountain Meadows in the past.
“I don’t think you can go wrong with any of the fish selections,” he said. “The last time I was here, I had the grilled salmon and certainly didn’t regret it.”
“As it happens, I like fish.” Jenna studied her menu. “Even tuna fish is a hit with me. I used to have to fight a cat I once had for it. I swear Bingo had a sixth sense that brought him running every time I opened a can, no matter how quietly.”
“Was that when you lived in Nevada?”
Jenna looked up and hesitated for a brief moment. “Yes. What made you think that might be the case?”
He lifted one shoulder in an offhand shrug. “Bingo, cards, gambling. They seem to fit.”
“I suppose so.” She closed her menu. “I’m going to take your recommendation and try the salmon.”
He decided on the pan-fried trout and again searched for a subject of conversation once the wine appeared and their orders were taken. He could have asked Jenna more about her days in Nevada—would have, if he hadn’t noted how she’d put a subtle yet swift end to the earlier conversational turn.
A sign that she’d rather not discuss that particular time in her life? Could be, he concluded, mindful of the fact that there were times in his own life he had no wish to discuss, either.
He finally settled on food as a safe bet. “What do you like to cook?”
“Pasta is one of my favorites.” Jenna sipped her wine. “Goodness knows, I ate enough of it when I was a kid. My mother makes the best red sauce ever. I learned from watching her, so I’m pretty good at it myself.” She paused. “Can you cook?”
“Not really. Then again, my mother never had a great deal of interest in that area, either.”
She met his gaze. “I assume you had a housekeeper to take care of kitchen duties when you were growing up.”
“Uh-huh. We had several over the years, as a matter of fact.” But none of them ever looked like you, Ross added to himself.
“And after you got married?”
He ran a long finger down the smooth stem of his glass. “Cynthia preferred to run her own household,” he said. And then it was his turn to change the subject, because his former marriage was one of the things he’d just as soon not discuss. “How do you like the wine?”
Whether conscious