Ever since Genevieve Terrence’s mama had inherited a pair of Elvis’s Jockey shorts, Genevieve had been a big believer in luck.

Luck could be good or bad. Granny Neville’s luck had been bad when her plane had crashed, killing her dead. But good luck had come out of it when Elvis’s Jockeys had passed to Mama, who had sold them for a pretty penny so that she, Genevieve, and Genevieve’s little brother, Lincoln, could leave the Hollow and relocate to Hawaii.

Without that famous underwear, they’d all still be back in Tennessee scratching for a living. Instead they were in Honolulu scratching for a living, but at least Genevieve was working for Nick Brogan’s company and hoping that Nick would ask her out. Genevieve didn’t love sitting there typing boring invoices all day, but that put her in a position for another stroke of luck, an invitation from Nick.

Nick was a far cry from Clyde Loudermilk back in the Hollow, a red-faced boy who used to swat her on the backside and tell her she was built for breeding. Yes, Elvis’s underwear had definitely led to progress for the Terrence family. Her brother Lincoln’s hair was a different color every month or so, but at least he didn’t have a chaw of tobacco stuck in his cheek like all his boy cousins back home.

And her mama had a good number of clients at the beauty salon where she worked as a manicurist, well-kept women who were good tippers.

Life was moving in a positive direction. Genevieve’s horoscope this morning had predicted the beginning of a romantic adventure, which was the kind of horoscope she loved to read. It might mean Nick would finally ask her out today. Thinking of that prediction, she anticipated his arrival in the office with more eagerness than usual.

The minute he set foot inside the door, she could smell him coming. Nobody else at Rainbow Software Systems slapped on that purely sinful, strip-naked-for-me aftershave. Nobody else would dare. They couldn’t begin to strut in the same barnyard with the likes of Nick Brogan.

She lost her place on the keyboard and &^%$#(&# popped up on the screen. She hit the delete key and hoped he hadn’t noticed. Lately Nick had formed the habit of coming up behind her and standing very close to her chair, which she took as a sign of interest. She was definitely looking for signs of interest. Nick might not realize it yet, but he needed her in his life.

Because it suited her goal, she didn’t begrudge him a peek down her blouse, either, although her mama would throw a hissy fit if she knew he did that. Mama would claim sexual harassment for sure, but it wasn’t, not with Nick. Nick didn’t have to harass anybody.

He was gorgeous, rich, and single. And wounded. Not anywhere you could see, but deep in his soul. Once she’d been lucky enough to catch his partner, Matt, in a mood to share confidences, and Matt had told her Nick was an orphan who’d had a rough childhood, so he didn’t trust people.

Once she’d learned that crucial piece of information, she could see the lost expression in Nick’s brown eyes from time to time. Because she knew what it was like to grow up poor and insecure, she was just the woman to fill the empty place in his heart. Besides, he was a Leo and she was a Gemini. They’d fit together like grits and gravy.

But first she had to get herself invited on one of his business trips to Maui, the kind where he flew the company plane and took one of the secretaries with him, always cautioning her they’d have to stay overnight because the meeting would run late. He had a bad reputation for spending the night with these women and then dropping them the minute they got back to Honolulu the next day. A couple of secretaries had actually quit over it.

Out of the six who currently worked in the business office of Rainbow Systems, two of the rejected ones were still there. They’d both warned the other four not to go to Maui with Nick, because he only wanted a one-night stand.

Genevieve knew that’s how Nick’s plans would start out, but she intended to break his pattern. She’d felt her chance coming for the past couple of weeks, and she wasn’t about to ruin it. But when he stood right behind her chair, he could read her computer screen and see that he made her so nervous she couldn’t type straight.

Nervous wasn’t how she wanted him to see her. Nervous could get her into trouble, and in no time she’d be sounding like all her relatives back in Tennessee, twanging away like she belonged on the stage at the Grand Ole Opry.

Nobody in this office knew about her roots, and she intended to keep it that way. Savvy, sophisticated, and sexy was what she was going for.

“That’s a nice color on you, Genevieve,” he said.

“Why, Nick!” Congratulating herself on wearing the peacock blue blouse that brought out the color of her eyes, she turned, as if totally surprised to discover him there. The back of her chair brushed his crotch, which she didn’t think was all bad.

She glanced up at him, careful not to oversmile. Her little brother, Lincoln, told her she had a mouth big as a Mason jar, which was an exaggeration, but she did have a wide mouth and had to be careful not to overdo the smiling. “I didn’t even realize you were standing there.” Thank the sweet Lord she hadn’t twanged once.

“Hope I didn’t startle you.”

Not possible, she thought, admiring that adorable cleft in his chin. She always knew the minute Nick appeared. He could no more startle her than a hog could lay eggs. “Only a little,” she said. “Is there something I can help you with?” He was such a pleasure to look at. Mama would think so, too, once she got a gander at him. He was the spitting image of Cary Grant in Bringing Up Baby, Mama’s favorite movie. He had the same thick brown hair and irresistible smile.

He used that smile on her now. “As a matter of fact, I do need a favor. I desperately need someone to fly over to Maui with me tomorrow and take notes during a meeting. It’ll probably go late, so we’ll plan to come back the next morning. I checked with Matt and he said we could spare you for a couple of days.”

Praise the Lord and pass the black-eyed peas! If there was ever a time she felt like oversmiling, this was it. At last she was the chosen one. The office grew very quiet, and she realized that all five women in the room were waiting for her answer. She knew they wouldn’t like it when she said yes, but that couldn’t be helped.

Still, she didn’t want to seem too eager, or too available. “Actually I had dinner plans tomorrow night.”

From across the room, Sue gave her a thumbs-up.

Nick scowled, though, his eyes darkening like the sky before a gully washer.

His scowl was as sexy as his smile. She loved the way he wore a dress shirt with no tie, and the top couple of buttons undone to show off his tan. “But maybe I can change my plans,” she said. From the muffled groans, she knew she’d lost the admiration of all five women as they went back to their typing.

Yet Nick was suddenly bright and cheerful, which made her feel good. His cheerfulness might be all about sex right now, but sex was a starting point with most men, anyway. Soon he’d discover that he’d found the right woman, at last.

“I’d appreciate that,” he said. “When can you let me know?”

She glanced at the digital clock in the corner of her computer screen. “Before lunch, I’m sure.”

“Good. I—”

“Oh, hey, Nick!” Jackson Farley, one of the company’s top programmers, hurried over to Genevieve’s desk. As usual, Jackson was loaded down with his laptop and a notebook overflowing with computer printouts. On top of that he was juggling a styrofoam cup of coffee.

Genevieve sighed. Obviously her fashion hints had fallen on deaf ears. Poor Jackson looked like her cousin Harley after a three-day toot. His eyes were red, his glasses smudged, and his dark hair stood out in sixty-eleven directions. To make matters worse, he’d decked himself out in a sweet potato–orange plaid shirt and pants the color of a rotten eggplant. Because he was tall, there was a lot of orange plaid and a lot of rotten purple, and all of it was wrinkled.

People said Jackson was a genius. She’d heard other programmers call him a certified “engine god,” whatever that meant. Nobody seemed to care what he looked like so long as he continued creating brilliant software that kept the company riding high on the stock market. But Genevieve cared. He’d never get a girlfriend dressed like that. Jackson Farley desperately needed a girlfriend, if for no other reason than to help pick out his clothes.

“I hear you’re flying over to Maui tomorrow,” Jackson said. He pushed up his glasses with the hand holding the coffee and sloshed some of it over the rim onto his thumb. “Ouch.” He licked at his thumb. “Damn, that’s hot.”

“Put mustard on it,” Genevieve said.

Jackson looked at her. “Really? You mean like regular mustard?”

“Yes. Regular mustard.” She’d always been sensitive to other people’s injuries, and she could almost feel the sting of the burn. “And go do it soon. It’ll take the pain away and you won’t blister.”

“Thanks. I’ll try it. I’m sure I have some mustard packets in my desk.”

Genevieve nodded. “I’m sure you do.” The man saved everything, and it was all jammed into his desk, sort of like Uncle Rufus’s shed back in Tennessee. Uncle Rufus could have a dead body in that shed and nobody would know the difference.

Jackson turned to Nick. “So you are going to Maui, right?”

“Yes. Why?”

“Matt wants me to go with you.”

Disappointment spilled all over Genevieve’s shiny new prospects. Talk about unfair. Every other secretary who’d gone with Nick to Maui had flown over there alone with him. Just her luck that when it was her turn, Jackson Farley was going to tag along. It would be like taking her brother, Lincoln.

Nick didn’t seem any happier about having Jackson along than she was. “What for?” Nick asked somewhat ungraciously.

“Aloha Pineapple is still having trouble with the new software. Henderson’s gone over, and Mitchell, but neither one of them has been able to straighten things out. Considering they’re such a big client, Matt thinks I should go take care of it.”

“Seems like a damned waste of your time,” Nick said. “Does Matt know I wasn’t coming back until Friday morning?”

“Yeah. He booked me a room at the hotel, too. It’s no problem if I have some time on my hands. I’ll take my laptop and get some work done.”

Genevieve studied good old Jackson and wondered if she could possibly spend the night in Nick’s room and not have Jackson find out. Or if he did find out, if she’d be able to explain that she wasn’t going to be just another one of Nick’s chickie-babes.

But she needed to be alone with Nick to give it her best shot, and here was Jackson Farley to throw a bucket of molasses into the works. She could tell from Nick’s body language that he didn’t want to take Jackson to Maui, but he really had no choice. He couldn’t very well say no because he’d been planning a roll in the hay with one of the company secretaries.

“I want to be in the air by eight,” Nick said. “Oh, and Genevieve’s coming with me, to take notes at the meeting,” he added casually.

Jackson didn’t blink an eye, so apparently he already knew about that. He just glanced at her, his expression smooth as porridge. “Yeah, Matt mentioned she was going,” he said. “No problem.”

He might seem okay with it, but she knew what he was probably thinking. She felt a blush coming on. Tarnation.

Having Jackson think poorly of her bothered her more than she wanted it to. Who was he, anyway? A genius in terrible clothes. “Go find your packet of mustard,” she said, “before that thumb blisters up on you.” She winced at her choice of words. Blisters up on you was something her aunt Maizie would say.

“Okay, I’ll do that. See you in the morning.” Jackson ambled off. The tail of his shirt had come untucked from his slacks, which was a constant problem for Jackson because he was at least six-six and regular shirts weren’t long enough for him.

Genevieve felt herself becoming more irritated looking at that shirttail hanging out. There were stores that sold extra-long sizes, if Jackson would only take the time to investigate. He could even shop online and not have to leave his precious computer. She felt the urge to erase any lingering effects from that blisters up on you remark. “Hasn’t Jackson ever heard of Eddie Bauer?” she muttered.

Nick laughed. “Don’t worry about Farley.”

She glanced up at Nick. The way he’d said it, he seemed to be implying that he could work around Jackson during their time on Maui. And he probably could. This was one smooth guy. Sexual excitement curled in her stomach. “Okay, I won’t.”

“I’ll pick you up at seven-thirty,” he said. “Assuming you can go.” His expression told her he knew she would go.

She lowered her voice. “You wouldn’t take off without Jackson, would you?” She didn’t want Jackson to go, but she didn’t want to leave him standing alone on the tarmac, either.

Nick leaned both hands on her desk, which brought his face very close to hers. “No, but you know Farley. Absentminded as they come and perennially late. I’ll bet you a bottle of Dom Pérignon that he doesn’t make it on time.” He smiled at her. “And I am lifting off at eight.”

She nearly passed out from the sexy curve of that smile and the lickable shape of his earlobe. Oh, well. Jackson would have to fend for himself. “Aye, aye, Captain,” she murmured.

* * *

“Mama, will you please do my nails? You know how important this is.”

Annabelle looked at her daughter sitting across the kitchen table. All mothers thought their daughters were beautiful, she supposed, but Genevieve really was prettier than a speckled pup, as Maizie would say. She’d inherited her father’s eyes, a combination of blue and green that had been the primary reason Genevieve had been conceived. Her hair was the taffy color of moonshine whiskey and she had the good sense to leave it alone—a simple cut that brushed her shoulders. No perm or fake highlights to ruin what the good Lord had seen fit to give her.

No wonder some big shot wanted to take her on an overnight to Maui. Annabelle sighed. Worry about Genevieve going on this plane trip had spoiled her appetite for the Big Mac Genevieve had brought her for supper. “I expect you’re plannin’ to go whether I do your nails or not.”

“You bet your bottom dollar I am. And my nails are chipped. You’re always telling me that chipped nails are worse than letting your bra strap show. Katharine Hepburn would never have flown to Maui with chipped nails.”

Annabelle knew her daughter was playing her like a fiddle whenever she brought up one of Annabelle’s favorite stars. It worked, though, because that’s what she wanted for Genevieve—the kind of elegant life portrayed in the old black-and-white movies.

Annabelle loved those movies for many reasons, including the fact that the heroines usually took trains and boats to wherever they were going, not airplanes. “Couldn’t he charter a boat to Maui? One of those hydrofoils?”

“No, Mama. He’s a pilot.”

“Who cares? He could take a boat for a change.” Annabelle had made but one flight in her life, and that had been because she’d had no other choice if she’d wanted to raise her kids to be something other than backwoods hillbillies.

When Genevieve was fifteen and Lincoln only three, Annabelle had seen plain as day that if she didn’t get her budding daughter out of the Hollow where the whole family lived, the girl would soon be pregnant by some mush-brain like Clyde Loudermilk, and she’d sink into the same poverty Annabelle had struggled with all her life. And because Annabelle was the only member of her clan with a regular job, she knew she’d have to go far away, or her relatives might follow her and Genevieve would be as bad off as before.

So Annabelle had settled on Hawaii, partly because she’d always liked Gilligan’s Island, but mostly because you had to take a plane to get to Hawaii. None of her kin would set foot on a plane after what happened to Granny Neville. Granny Neville had been the first one in the family to take a plane somewhere, and it hadn’t turned out well. After the crash they’d found her shoe two hundred yards from the spot they’d picked up her false teeth.

Fortunately, before Granny Neville left for the airport, she’d given Annabelle her most prized possession, a pair of Jockey shorts with E. Presley written with a laundry marker right on the label. Those Jockeys had paid for three coach tickets to Honolulu and money to get started in a new location.

But the plane flight to Hawaii had been the most terrifying experience of Annabelle’s life. She never expected to get on a plane again and didn’t want her children on one, either. Now here was Genevieve with a chance at a real good catch, apparently, and there had to be a plane involved.

“Mama, Nick flies all the time. He’s a good pilot.” Genevieve spread out her fingers on the worn pine table. “I think French this time, don’t you? It’s more natural looking and it’ll go with whatever I’m wearing.”

Annabelle was about to ask what she was wearing, exactly, when Lincoln came in from playing basketball and opened the freezer to take out a red, white, and blue Popsicle. He’d begged Annabelle to buy the Popsicles because they matched his hair, which he’d dyed for the summer in colors that he said suited all the summer holidays—Memorial Day, Fourth of July, and Labor Day.

Working in a beauty salon, Annabelle had seen all kinds of strange hair colors, so she hadn’t been as upset as most mothers might have been. And to tell the truth, when Lincoln wanted matching Popsicles, he’d made her laugh because it proved he was still a kid at heart. Besides, hair was minor. What Genevieve was planning, this flight to Maui, was major.

Lincoln bit into his Popsicle and talked with his mouth full. “Hey, Gen, what I want to know is if you’re gonna have, like, sex with this dude, since you’re staying overnight with him.”

“Lincoln!” Annabelle scolded.

“That is none of your business,” Genevieve said.

“She’s right, Lincoln,” Annabelle said. “Go back to the park and play basketball some more.”

“No way! This is the most awesome thing that’s happened around here in, like, months! Maybe ever! You know Chad, the guy whose dad sells cars? He sold Nick Brogan a Z3.”

“I have no idea what that is,” Annabelle said. “And I don’t give a care, either.”

“A convertible,” Genevieve said.

“Not just a convertible,” Lincoln said. “A Beemer!”

Annabelle tried to make sense of what her son was saying. “You mean like on Star Trek, where they’re always beaming people up and down?”

Lincoln seemed to find this very funny. “A Beemer is a BMW, Mom,” he said when he stopped laughing long enough to get the words out.

She was used to having him crack up at things she said, so she ignored his know-it-all grin. “Oh. I’ve heard of BMW cars.” She sort of wished he’d call her Mama, like Genevieve did, but that wouldn’t sound right in front of his friends. Genevieve, being older when they’d left Tennessee, hadn’t been able to break herself of saying Mama. Annabelle found that comforting.

“Well, this is a roadster, Mom, and it’s really cool and really expensive. That loser Gen used to date drove a Yugo, so she’s definitely trading up with this guy. And as her little brother, I have a vested interest in this project.” Red Popsicle juice dribbled over his fist and dripped on the floor.

Annabelle glared at him and fought the urge to make him the target for all her fears about rich men who drove Beemers and flew planes. “You’re dripping all over the floor. Take that Popsicle outside.”

“Okay, but ignoring your kids makes them do drugs. There’s ads about it and everything.” He sauntered out the kitchen door.

With a sigh, Annabelle stood and walked over to the kitchen cupboard where she kept her at-home manicure supplies. She was barefoot, as was Genevieve. Thank goodness such a thing wasn’t frowned on in Hawaii, because after all those years of going barefoot in the Hollow, neither Annabelle nor Genevieve could tolerate shoes except when required, like on the job and in church.

Opening the cupboard, she took down the polish remover and her crystal soaking bowl full of Lincoln’s old marbles. Lincoln might wonder about what would happen tomorrow night, but Annabelle knew good and well Genevieve planned to have sex with this Nick person. Her daughter wasn’t a virgin, probably hadn’t been a virgin when they’d left Tennessee. Clyde Loudermilk would have seen to that. Virginity wasn’t really the issue.

She studied her array of polishes sitting neatly on the shelf. “French, did you say?”

“French,” Genevieve repeated. “Mama, I know you’re scared about this, but it’s the chance I’ve been waiting for. I’ve had my eye on Nick ever since I started working at Rainbow Systems, but I didn’t say anything because I didn’t want to jinx it. You see, he’s an orphan and had some terrible times growing up. He needs somebody so much, and I plan to be the one. I expect to marry him.”

“Marry?” Annabelle dropped the soaking bowl, which shattered on the kitchen floor. Marbles rolled everywhere.

“Mama, your soaking bowl!” Genevieve leaped to her feet and started picking up the marbles.

“Watch your bare feet with that glass!” Annabelle gazed at the broken glass on the floor and knew it was a bad sign. Very bad. Of course the bowl wasn’t really crystal, only cut glass. Genevieve had bought it for fifty cents at the Goodwill Store for Annabelle’s twenty-first birthday. To think that at twenty-one she’d had a daughter in first grade, a daughter who’d sold the tiny creatures she whittled until she had enough to buy that bowl.

And now this girl had her eye on a man who could give her real crystal and a fairy-tale life of fancy cars and clothes and jewels, just like in the movies. Annabelle should be thrilled for her, but the bad feeling wouldn’t go away. “Don’t fly in a plane with this man, Genevieve.” Annabelle started picking up fragments of glass. “It’s a mistake.”

“Oh, Mama.” On her knees searching for marbles, Genevieve paused and glanced up at her. “It’s not a mistake. Listen, I know how you feel about planes, but what happened to Granny Neville doesn’t happen to very many people. Flying is safer than driving.”

Annabelle knew that Genevieve wouldn’t all of a sudden listen to her and turn down this opportunity. Genevieve might still live at home, but that was so Annabelle could afford to stay in a nice neighborhood with a good school for Lincoln. The older Genevieve got, the more she treated Annabelle like an older sister instead of a mother. After all, they were only fifteen years apart. Genevieve would go on this trip whether Annabelle wanted her to or not.

“Mama, he looks like Cary Grant.”

“Does he?” Annabelle went to fetch the broom and the dustpan so they could clean up the tiny fragments. Meanwhile she tried to push aside her worries and think about Cary Grant flying Genevieve to Maui. That didn’t seem so bad.

Maybe she wasn’t having her usual premonitions this time. Maybe it was only her backwoods Tennessee raising that made her suspicious of a man who took a company secretary over to Maui and kept her there overnight. He might look like Cary Grant, but it didn’t sound like a Cary Grant thing to do.

Genevieve could get her heart broken, but people healed from a broken heart. Annabelle had found that out for herself twice over, once with Genevieve’s daddy and once with Lincoln’s.

She moved a kitchen chair and started sweeping under the table where some stray slivers had flown. “You’re just saying he looks like Cary Grant to soften me up.”

“No, he really does.” Genevieve stood and dropped the marbles into the mail basket on the counter. “Especially the way Cary Grant looked in Bringing Up Baby. You would just melt.”

And she might, at that, Annabelle thought, being a sucker for the likes of Cary Grant, Spencer Tracy, and Humphrey Bogart. Each one held a special place in her heart. And as for the women, she’d learned everything she knew about manners and fashion from watching Katharine Hepburn, Lauren Bacall, and Ingrid Bergman. She’d done her best to teach those things to Genevieve.

Genevieve crouched down and held the dustpan while Annabelle swept the glass into it. “I’ll get you a new soaking bowl,” Genevieve said. “A better one.”

“I loved that one,” Annabelle said, and her throat tightened up. She swallowed the lump. She’d learned a long time ago that there was no point in crying over what couldn’t be changed. She swept the last of the glass into the dustpan Genevieve held. “But I’m sure I’ll love the new one you get me, too.”

Genevieve stood and dumped the glass into the trash. “Maybe I’ll find something pretty while I’m on Maui.”

Annabelle searched for a smile to give her daughter and finally managed to find one. “Yes, maybe you will.”

* * *

Jackson stayed up late driving the Indy 500, and he finished a close third this time. As he’d learned in the past few years, there wasn’t much you couldn’t do with a computer, with the obvious exception of having sex. Maybe someday that would be perfected. He’d heard of some developments along those lines, but he had a hunch they were a long way from being as good as the real thing.

At least the real thing as near as he could remember it. Lately his fantasies about Genevieve Terrence had become sort of mixed up with his memories of having sex with Diana, his first love, and Cybil, his last love. He was aware that two sexual relationships, wasn’t a very respectable showing for a guy who was nearing thirty.

But relationships were so damned complicated. With computers it was strictly WYSIWYG, What You See Is What You Get, and he loved that. With women you could never tell. Like Genevieve—a perfect example. He’d thought she was way too classy to fall for Brogan’s Maui sleepover schtick. Genevieve had always reminded him of a movie star from the forties—Katharine Hepburn, maybe, or Lauren Bacall. His grandma loved those movies, and because he loved his grandma he’d watched a fair amount of them with her back in Nebraska.

Genevieve even dressed a little like the women in those movies. The outfits she wore with the nipped-in waists and flared skirts that skimmed her knees made him want to take her dancing to the sounds of Benny Goodman or somebody like that. Of course he didn’t know how to dance, but if he did know how, that’s the kind of dancing he’d want to do with Genevieve.

Per his usual lack of confidence, he hadn’t even asked her out for coffee. Every time he thought he’d worked up the courage, he’d walk into the office where she was typing away and she’d look so together that he’d lose his nerve. One look at her perfect fingernails, her perfect makeup, and her perfect hair, and he’d realize that she’d never want to go out with a guy with zero fashion sense.

During that one humiliating conversation when she’d tried to give him some advice about his clothes, he’d started to tell her about his mild case of color-blindness. Then he’d figured that he didn’t want her to think of him as being handicapped in addition to being a nerd.

He was a nerd. He couldn’t change that about himself and didn’t really want to. Being a nerd paid exceedingly well, besides being what he was best suited for. His two previous girlfriends had also been nerds, and he’d assumed he’d marry a nerd someday. But then he’d flown to Honolulu to interview for Rainbow Systems and had met Genevieve.

She wasn’t the first pretty girl he’d ever seen in his life, obviously. He’d analyzed his strong attraction and decided it wasn’t totally based on her beauty, although she was beautiful. Something made her stand out from the crowd, and he’d driven himself crazy trying to figure out what that was. Whatever it was, he thought it had something to do with hidden depths. He couldn’t help believing that under that polished exterior of hers was a whole other thing going on.

She was a puzzle, and he’d always been fascinated by puzzles.

But apparently when it came to Brogan, there was no mystery. She was just like the other women who had leaped at the chance to go winging over to Maui and leap into a king-size bed in a suite with an ocean view. Jackson hadn’t thought much of Brogan from the beginning. Something about the guy was a little off. If Brogan had conducted the first interview instead of Matt Murphy, Jackson wouldn’t have considered Rainbow, even knowing he’d be working in the same building with the luscious Genevieve.

By the time he met Brogan, he’d pretty much committed to Matt and started fantasizing about Genevieve. He’d figured with someone like her around, he could tolerate a guy like Brogan. Still, this most recent development made him wonder if he’d be able to tolerate the jerk after all.

When Matt had proposed the trip and explained about Brogan taking Genevieve along, Jackson had nearly begged off. He’d almost been sick to his stomach in the middle of Matt’s office, to be honest.

But then he’d had a weird thought—that if he went along, maybe he could be of some help to Genevieve if things went sour between her and Brogan. Okay, so he prayed they would go sour and he’d be around to pick up the pieces. Nobody could blame a guy for wanting to be a hero in the eyes of a woman like Genevieve.