The Fiance Thief by Tracy South Page B

here, but if you’re serious about coming, they have one-stop flights from New York City to Ridgeville. Getting here would be no trouble at all. I’d be more than happy to pick you up at the airport and give you a ride out there, so you don’t have to rent a car.” She remembered that she was supposed to be a part of the paper’s story. “That would give me a chance to get some quotes from you along the way.”
    “Lissa, you’re great,” he said in a warm voice.
    They agreed that he would call her when he’d made arrangements for his flight, and she reeled off her home number to him. They said their goodbyes and, satisfied, she hung up the phone and beamed at Hank.
    He was plainly less than impressed. “Rhetorical question,” he said. “What kind of man flies hundreds of miles to crash a party?”
    “One who’s desperate for revenge or hopelessly in love.” Lissa got her purse from the bottom drawer of her desk. “Both, I bet.”
    “Where are you going?”
    “I’m going to pick up Scott.”
    “He hasn’t even booked a flight yet,” Hank said.
    “I want to be ready when he calls.” She pointed to her rayon skirt and casual blouse. “I’m not driving to the Craig home looking like this.”
    “What about your stories?”
    “I’m sure I’ll be back in plenty of time to finish them. But just in case, let me tell you where some of this stuff is.” She pointed to a stack of press releases on her desk. “The information about the barbecue contest is somewhere in the pile. It’s at seven, but don’t feel like you have to stay for very long. You don’t even have to hang around for the end of the contest—just ask one of the judges to call you.” She dug in her purse for a piece of paper. “Here’s the rough draft of that wedding story I was supposed to be writing. Mick was there, since he’s friends of the bride’s parents, but don’t expect him to remember anything about it. I seem to remember there was some ruckus by the punch bowl with the mother of the groom.” Pointing to an engagement picture on top of the pile she said, “That’s the bride.”
    It was the first time she’d seen Hank with his jaw hanging open. “I can’t believe you have the nerve to do this.”
    Just because he didn’t have any big ambitions didn’t mean no one else did. “Hank,” she said, giving him a hurt look over her shoulder as she hurried out the door. “I’m doing it for Claire.”

4
    I T WAS THE FIRST TIME she’d seen him without a suit, and during the first few miles of their trip, Claire was wholly engrossed in her struggle not to ask Alec whether he felt naked without it. Theirs was a casual office, even by newspaper standards, and there was no dress code, per se, but Alec came to work each morning decked out in the uniform of corporate America. Claire suspected it was his way of showing he was at the top of the journalistic food chain.
    The khakis and white polo he’d donned for this trip didn’t subtract from the aura of power he wielded around the office. In fact, his casual clothes highlighted the fact that he had a body far more muscular than that of the stereotypical pencil jockey. She tried to ignore the sinewy muscles of his arm as he reached for the tape player, and the definition of his thigh as he braked and shifted gears. Claire resolved to stare at the scenery until they reached Loudon.
    “How did you come to live in that house? Did you say it belonged to your grandparents?”
    Damn. For months, the man had made it clear to her that she was no more worthy of his attention than a common housefly, and now, just when she needed for him to ignore her, he was trying to make small talk.
    “Sort of,” she said, her voice coming out as a croak. She cleared her throat and tried again. “They lived in a house on the same land, and they built that one for myparents when they first married. Years later, their own house started falling down around them, so they razed it and moved into the