The Replacement Wife by Tiffany L. Warren Page A

tested. She approached this prospect with some trepidation. Her tardiness had already put her on her potential supervisor’s bad side.
    Montana couldn’t help but gasp as Ms. Levy led her through a large foyer with ceilings that seemed to stretch into infinity.
    â€œI bet the acoustics in here are great,” Montana said.
    Ms. Levy said, “The late Mrs. Chambers swore by the acoustics in this foyer. She’d have Mr. Chambers wheel a piano right in here and play for her while she sang.”
    Montana smiled at Ms. Levy’s musing, thrilled that she’d evoked a good memory instead of a bad one. Perhaps it would erase her earlier faux pas.
    Ms. Levy showed Montana into a parlor filled with pretty peach and silver furniture. She motioned for Montana to sit, and she did.
    â€œWait here,” Ms. Levy said. “It shouldn’t be long.”
    Montana gazed out the room’s bay window at the wonderful view. The sun danced on a lake surrounded by small peach trees. A little family of ducks traveled across it as if they had major business to accomplish.
    â€œIt’s beautiful, isn’t it?”
    Montana turned to answer whoever belonged to the deep, rich, baritone voice. “It is. Very.”
    And so was he. Montana’s breath caught in her throat at the sight of him. On first take, she couldn’t find one flaw. He had smooth caramel skin, dark curly hair that fell across his forehead, and light brown eyes. Those eyes were what had Montana feeling flustered. The contrast of their color and the heavy, long eyelashes overwhelmed her. It was as if God had said, “Let there be romance” and then drew those eyes.
    He offered his hand for Montana to shake. “I’m Quentin Chambers. I think I’m supposed to be meeting you.”
    Montana jumped to her feet. “Mr. Chambers, I’m Montana Ellis. I attend church with your mother.”
    He chuckled. “Don’t be nervous. I’m not the one in charge here. It’s my mother and Ms. Levy that you have to worry about. And my mother obviously likes you already or you wouldn’t even be here.”
    â€œI love your mother. We sing together in the choir.”
    Quentin lifted an eyebrow and cleared his throat. Montana panicked. Had she said something wrong?
    â€œBut I’m not sure about Ms. Levy,” Montana continued, trying to recover. “I don’t know if I’ve impressed her.”
    Quentin’s warmth seemed to return. “Her bark is bigger than her bite. I’m sure you’re fine.”
    Montana looked at her feet for a moment to gather her wits. She couldn’t match Quentin’s steady gaze.
    When she felt ready, she looked back up at him and asked, “Do you have any questions for me? They’re your children.”
    Quentin ran one hand through his hair while he pondered, and it was then that Montana noticed his biceps. She swallowed hard. He wasn’t just fine. This man was incredible.
    â€œFor the life of me, I can’t think of one thing to ask you. That’s horrible, right? Maybe if you looked more like a nanny, I’d have a question or two.”
    Montana looked down at her clothes. She’d worn what she’d had on at church—a white blouse, a black skirt, and a red rose. Well, she’d moved the flower from her lapel into her massive headful of curls, but other than that it was the same outfit.
    She shrugged. “How should a nanny look?”
    Quentin looked stumped again, but this time he was saved by his mother, who burst into the room, breaking the uncomfortable silence.
    â€œWell, I wanted to introduce you,” Estelle said, as she gave Montana a hug. “This is the young lady I was telling you about. What do you think?”
    â€œUm . . . what do I think?” Quentin asked.
    Estelle shook her head slightly as if he was irritating her. “Yes, don’t you think she’s perfect?”
    â€œOh, yes. Whatever