Mr. Wonderful by Carol Grace Page A

she meant well. Maybe one of these days she would introduce me to “Mr. Right.” And we’d look into each other’s eyes, cymbals would clash, violins would play and somehow we’d know our love was meant to be. But not this time. Not with Roger’s boss who loved skiing and played bridge. I hated being out in the cold with a pair of sticks on my feet and I had no skill at cards of any kind.
    What a relief it was to get into a warm flannel nightgown and slide under the down comforter. Safe at last. Safe, but not sleepy. I sat up straight. It was only ten o’clock, but the house was quiet. Now I did feel like a wimp who had no night life.
    The sound of a car’s wheels spinning in the slush outside the cabin broke the silence. Then came a soft knocking on the front door. I held my breath trying to hear the muffled voices. Someone was clumping up the stairs. I sat up straight, my heart thumping with the sound of every step, wondering if Brandon knew which room was his. He didn’t.
    The door to my room opened slowly, and a tall, broad-shouldered form ducked under the eaves. Oh, no, not glasses! I never could resist men who look intelligent and vulnerable at the same time. Before I could slide back under the comforter, the eyes behind the glasses surveyed me in my granny gown. So this was Mr. Wonderful. And he was embarrassed.
    “Oh, I’m sorry,” he said awkwardly. “I thought Phyllis said the door on the right.”
    “Knowing my sister, she probably did say that. Did she also get a chance to tell you I’ve skied every slope in the Sierras, I speak French, and play tournament bridge?” I asked.
    The smile that crossed his face confirmed my suspicions. I could have killed her!
    “You mean it isn’t true? I want my money back,” he said with a glint in his eyes I could see even in the dim light. “You are Alison, though, I hope.” He took a few steps into the room.
    I nodded. “And you’re Brandon?”
    “I’m not the cat burglar. Could I sit down? It’s been a long day,” he said wearily.
    This wasn’t the way I’d pictured Roger’s new boss at all. Maybe he was the cat burglar! The stranger sat in the rocking chair at the foot of my bed and stretched his long legs out in front of him looking casually at home and exceptionally attractive.
    “What did they say about me? May I ask?” His eyes crinkled at the corners. He seemed to be enjoying himself, and that gave me confidence.
    “You can ask, but Roger didn’t know much about you,” I told him. “You’re from  Colorado, so we know you’re a skier, you play bridge and, uh, the whole office likes you.” I left out the Mr. Wonderful part.
    “Did Roger say that I hinted so much about wanting to meet you that I almost made it part of his job description?” he asked.
    “Only because Roger told you how wonderful I was!” I fumed. “I knew it! They do this to me all the time. I can’t ski, I can speak two words of French, and I’m just learning to play bridge. Now you’re disappointed. You’ve been set up. Even the wrong directions to your room. How could they?”
    I jumped out of bed, furious with my sister and her husband. I crossed the room and opened the window to get some air; my face was burning with embarrassment.
    Brandon sprang out of the rocker and was across the room in two strides. His warm hands held my arms.
    “Alison,” he said, “yes, Roger told me about you, but he didn’t do you justice. Besides, it was my idea. I’m the one who asked about you after I’d seen your picture.”
    “What picture?” I asked in disbelief.
    He released me slowly. “The wedding picture on Roger’s desk. I asked who the woman next to the bride was, and then I kept at him until he promised I’d get to meet you.” Creases formed between his eyebrows, and he pushed his glasses back  up his nose. “Now I’ve screwed it all up somehow.”
    My face cooled, I shut the window. “Maybe we should start all over,” I suggested.
    “Why don’t I