Chapter 2

	Reese Kincaide secured his lawn mower in the back of his truck and turned to
walk back across the lawn he had just finished mowing.  Ahead of him a tanned and
sophisticated looking woman sat waving at him with great animation.
	“Come sit with me and have an iced tea, Reese, darling. You must be parched!”
She called, when he was near enough to hear him. Not that the invitation was
necessary, for Reese knew better than to leave without stopping for a chat.  He’d tried it
once, and had heard about it for months afterwards. The woman placed an icy glass
next to an empty spot at the table and patted the chair in front of it. He flashed her a
killer smile and dropped into the chair, picking up the glass and taking a long and
welcome drink.
	“Never tasted better.” he said, once the refreshment had quenched his thirst.
	“You say that every time,  no matter what I serve you.” she said, coyly, but
beamed at him none the less.
	“And I mean it every time.” he said, with a sly grin.
	“There’s that Kincaide charm again.” She teased. “You really should find yourself 
a young lady of your own to dazzle with it you know.”
	Reese took another long sip of his drink and started to stand up. “Look at the
time! Really should be on my way you know.”
	“Nonsense!” She said, stopping him in his tracks, pointing a polished nail in his
direction. “You just sit there and keep me company a little longer. There’s nobody back
at the shop clocking your hours, Reese Kincaide!”
	Reese settled back in his chair and conceded defeat. He never had been able to
get the upper hand where Monica Drummond was concerned.  Although in her early
fifties, the woman didn’t look much older than Reese’s own thirty-three years.  Her
blonde hair was neatly curled with not a hair out of place, and although Reese was sure
there must be a touch of natural grey hidden somewhere under the hairdresser’s magic
touch, the colour still looked perfectly natural, not brassy and fake like so many die jobs
often did. She was dressed in a crisp blouse with a faint flower pattern, and cream
coloured shorts, as if she might be on her way to the golf club when Reese was finished.
Not that she golfed much, but she did socialize quite a lot. 
	As Emily Kincaide-Ryan’s younger sister by ten years,  Monica had always
prided herself in her ability to get her favourite nephew to do anything for her. Just about
anything that was. So far her attempts at getting him married off had been in vain, and
with no children of her own to meddle with she had taken on the task of manipulating
Reese’s love-life. Reese, however, was being less than helpful.   
	Emily had been widowed when Reese was in College.  His mother and father
had married in their early twenties, and had his father not died they would have still been
married to this day. Rafe Kincaide had suffered with a bad heart for several years,
however, and Emily had dedicatedly stood by his side throughout his illness.  Reese had
always marveled at how much love there was between his parents.  He knew that, were
he ever to enter into the state of matrimony himself, he would want a relationship like
theirs.  After several years as a widow, Emily had re-married, and moved with her
second husband, Patrick Ryan, southwest where the winters were less harsh.  Though it
meant he didn’t see his mother as much as he used to, he was happy for her.  It was
clear to Reese whenever he was around them,  that she was blessed with as much
success the second time around as she had been the first. 
	So many marriages ended in disaster, and Reese had vowed to himself that
unless he could reasonably guarantee his own marriage to turn out like his parent’s had,
he wasn’t about to even consider it. Lord knew, the woman seated in front of him was a
prime example. Unlike her sister, Monica Drummond had been married four times and
never been widowed once. The divorce lawyers in town knew her on a first name basis, 
especially Thomas Newbury, who had been husband number three.  Now that she was
between husbands, with no specific prospects for the future  in her sights, she’d decided
her nephew’s love-life was fair game.
	“It’s not like you’re not a fine looking young man, Reese, you could have any
woman you wanted on your arm at the drop of a hat, and I have it on very good authority
that you are kind and generous and very well mannered to boot.” She patted her own
chest and winked at him with a coy grin.  “So what’s the problem? You’re not gay are
you?”
	Reese laughed out loud at that one. Monica was never one to mince words.
When she had a question to ask she asked it straight out without batting an eye.  “No
Aunt Mon, I can assure you I’m definitely not gay.” He said, the light of laughter still in his
eyes.  Reese liked women as much as the next guy. Whenever he had a function to
attend he was never at a loss for a date. He’d had his share of relationships over the
years too, but he’d never felt that any of them were destined to be that special one to
build a marriage on. That didn’t mean he didn’t enjoy an intimate moment with a woman
when the time was just right.  If the woman wanted it, and he wanted it, and no one
expected any more from it than that, he wasn’t going to be the one to refuse.
	“Whew!” She settled back in her chair again. “That’s a relief. I wouldn’t know
where to begin to find someone to set you up with if you were. I would have had to
recruit the assistance of Antoine at the salon.” Reese groaned, although the laughter
was still on his face.  His aunt never ceased to amaze him. It wasn’t his sexual
preference that had concerned her, but rather, her ability to select an appropriate mate
for him.
	“Don’t worry your pretty head over it, Aunt Mon.  If and when I want to settle
down, I’m perfectly capable of looking after myself, and when I find the right girl you’ll be
one of the first to know.  I promise.”
	“Flattery will get you just about everywhere, but in this case, I still question your
abilities. If you can look after your own love life, then why are you still a bachelor at
thirty-three?”
	“Because I haven’t met a woman I wanted to spend the rest of my life with yet.”
	Monica grunted as elegantly as she could manage. “Nonsense. I haven’t spent
the rest of my life with one man yet, now have I? It hasn’t turned me off marriage. I just
consider myself between husbands right now. If you don’t get it right the first time, then
try again.”
	Reese shook his head, and set down his glass, this time standing up and lifting
his hand to warn her not to stall him any longer. “Not for me Aunt Mon. I’m a one wife
man, and unless I feel certain it’s going to be that way, I’m content to stay single. I’m not
interested in a woman who’s just going to use me as a stepping stone to something
better... or at least... different. Nothing personal meant there Aunt Monica, it’s just the
way I am. Now if you will excuse me, I really do have to get back to work.  I didn’t build
this business up from nothing by sitting around drinking Iced Tea with my beautiful
customers all day.”
	She pretended to pout, but offered no further resistance. He was a hard working
man, this nephew of hers. He’d started out mowing lawns as a summer job in high-
school, and had ended up making himself quite a lucrative business out of it. He’d make
some lucky girl a perfect husband some day, and if she had anything to do with it, that
day would be sooner rather than later, and he’d have Monica Drummond to thank for it.

	Monica watched as her nephew’s truck pulled out of the driveway, then gathered
the glasses and made her way into the house.  It was a large house, with a very
extravagant yard. Much bigger than a single woman in her fifties needed, but Monica
had become accustomed to luxury over the years. She’d also become accustomed to
getting her own way, and where Reese was concerned, she had no intention of making
any exceptions.  Monica had always been closer to Emily than any of the rest of her
family.  Perhaps it was that they were the only girls in a family that included three
brothers, or maybe it was the fact that Emily had been the oldest and Monica the
youngest.  As a little girl she had followed her older sister everywhere, and Em hadn’t
minded one bit. Even after she had married, she’d always had time for Monica.  The fact
that the two of them had grown up to have entirely different outlooks on love and
marriage didn’t seem to change anything between them.  Monica had always admired
her sister’s long lasting marriage, and she was genuinely happy for her when she had
found a second husband just as loving as her first.  It was what Emily had always
wanted... stability and long lasting love... and she had chosen well with both of her
husbands.  
	It wasn’t exactly that Monica had made bad choices, it was just the luck of the
draw. She’d married for love the first time, or so she had thought. Looking back, perhaps
it was obvious that her first husband had appealed to her for all the wrong reasons. He
was fast, racy, and flashy. The typical playboy. He mesmerized her, and he was quite
aware of that fact. He epitomized everything Monica thought she wanted out of life. 
Unfortunately, she wasn’t the only woman who thought that way, and after four years of
marriage, Monica discovered he’d been keeping company with several of them almost
from the moment of their wedding.  When she’d confronted him and demanded a
divorce, he’d merely shrugged and given it to her.  
	After that, she’d made sure that her reasons for marrying were more sound.
Sure, she’d been compatible with them all, but it was never the love that Emily enjoyed.
More often than not, there was money, or social status involved, and she was always
careful to select a husband who’s wishes were the same as her own.  She could still
consider herself friends with most of them, and in fact, Thomas had even negotiated her
latest divorce.  She’d given each of her husbands what they’d needed, and acquired
something from each of them, in return,  and she had never looked back. This rambling
house was just one of the things she had to show for her many marriages, and since
children had never been part of the picture for her and her many husbands, she was
glad to have Reese to help her take care of the grounds.  If she could just find him the
right woman, she might be able to enjoy having some great-nieces and great-nephews
romping on the grass before she got too old to appreciate them.
	Monica walked through the house to the oak-trimmed study that overlooked the
patio and lily-pad pool at the back of the house.  Purposefully she  lifted the top of her
roll-top desk as she sat down.  This was where she had been when Reese had arrived. 
She lifted the newspaper and re-read the item that stared back at her through her own
carefully drawn circle, then she picked up the plain white envelope that had come in the
mail that morning, addressed to Reese, at Monica’s address.  She looked at it
thoughtfully, tapping it faintly against her palm as she turned her gaze momentarily in the
direction of the front of the house where Reese had just made it quite clear he wanted
her to keep her nose out of his business.  She hesitated only slightly, then picked up the
letter opener and slit the envelope open. 
	The letter inside was short, and descriptive, but pleasant; written in neat female
handwriting.  She read it through once, then a second time to pick up more details. The
girl sounded perfect. Just what the doctor ordered, or at least what Monica ordered. 
With more purpose in her movement now, she stood up and walked over to her
computer and quickly typed out a reply.  Humming to herself, she folded the piece of
paper into an envelope, addressed it and grabbed her purse as she headed to the door.  

	“You did WHAT?”
	Monica sat silently on the floral chintz sofa in her living-room.  She’d physically
flinched at his outburst, and now she sat with fingers laced tightly on her lap, wondering
what she might be able to say that would soften the dark blazing gaze that stared down
at her. Probably nothing, she reasoned, and she supposed she couldn’t really blame
him.  Reese had warned her to stay out of his love life on more than one occasion. He’d
been quite adamant about it. She had completely disregarded his wishes.  But, much as
she felt rather like a child who had been caught stealing a cookie from the cookie jar,
she still didn’t completely feel that she had done anything wrong.  The man needed a
woman in his life. What harm was she doing giving cupid a little helping hand anyway? 
She lifted  sheltered eyes to gaze at him through her lashes, a ploy that was only met
with more exasperation on his part.
	Reese shoved his hand through his thick dark hair and glared down at his aunt.
Much as he loved her, he wished she would just mind her own business. The more she
meddled, the more likely it was that someone was going to get hurt. He didn’t want a
girlfriend, and he didn’t want a wife. Not right now. Some day, when the right girl came
along, then sure, he’d settle down, build himself a little picket fence, plant a few shrubs 
and landscape in a flower bed for the little woman, but not right now.  Right now he
vowed he would never enter into a marriage if he couldn’t see it lasting forever.  Of
course, it seemed as every year passed that whole concept was being swept out the
window in this society, so the likelihood of him getting married was growing slimmer and
slimmer, and to be truthful, he wasn’t minding being a bachelor one little bit.
	He could handle his aunt’s little hints, her nagging and her prodding. He could
even handle her suggestions of who she thought would look good on his arm. He’d
dated a few of the daughters of her society friends in the past, and he’d even been able
to handle that. At least the girls all knew what was going on, and had looked at the dates
as just two people having a good time to appease their meddling relatives.  Nothing
more, nothing less. But this time, she’d gone too far.
	An ad in the personals for God’s sake!  He paced the floor, then threw up his
hands and stood staring down at her again. It would have been almost hilarious, if it
weren’t for the fact that, somewhere, there was a woman who thought he was really
interested in her.  A woman who wasn’t just looking for a night on the town or a good
time to be had by all.  A woman who was looking for.... he thought back to the wording of
the add Monica had shown him a few moments before.... long term
relationship/marriage!  
	Marriage! 
	Monica had some innocent woman caught up in her ridiculous meddling, who
actually thought Reese was interested in marrying her!  Sure, he could handle it, brush it
off as one more of Monica’s interfering plots, and think nothing more about it, but now
someone else was probably going to get hurt, and he was pretty damn sure his lovely
aunt hadn’t given that side of it even one little thought.
	No, she’d had quite a smug look on her face when she had dropped her latest
little bombshell. Look what I’ve done for you she’d chimed, in her best society tea voice. 
She sounds absolutely perfect. I took the liberty of writing to her for you.  She’d handed
him the newspaper, the perfectly drawn circle staring up at him off the page. The words
had practically jumped out and stung him.  Seeking honest SWM. Good Lord, there was
nothing honest about this whole charade, he’d thought. For long term
relationship/marriage. The phrase repeated itself over and over in his head. He bit back
another curse and tossed the newspaper on the table. 
	“How could you?” He demanded, staring down at her now, his hand raking
through his hair for the umpteenth time. “How could you play with a total stranger like
this? You’ve gone too far this time Aunt Monica! Too far!”
	She sat, back straight, hands clasped, and nodded. “You’re absolutely right
Reese, I should have thought.”
	“Should have thought? Damn straight you should have thought! It’s one thing
playing with my life, but when you bring strangers into it, you have totally crossed the
line.”
	She nodded again. “I completely agree.”
	“Monica, you just can’t go around......”  He threw up his hands and spun around
so his back was to her. What was the point? He couldn’t even lecture her about this if all
she was going to do was sit there looking prim and proper, nodding her head,  and
agreeing with him.  What satisfaction was there in that?  He shook his head and stopped
pacing long enough to look at the letter she had handed him after he’d read the
newspaper ad.  The soft feminine handwriting looked back at him from writing paper the
faintest shade of mauve.  She was a teacher, she loved children, country music, walks
in the park and long drives in the country.  She was twenty-five years old. Twenty-five for
God’s sake!  It was bad enough his aunt was always trying to set him up with women
from all over town, but this one was practically ten years younger than him!
	“This has got to stop.” He glared at his aunt. She simply sat there and nodded.
“No more! I don’t want to hear another word about this letter. I don’t want to hear another
word about finding me a girlfriend, and I absolutely do NOT want to hear another word
about me getting married. Do I make myself clear?”
	“Perfectly clear.” She nodded, and he let out a frustrated groan. Who was he
kidding anyway? Of course she’d do it again.  And again, and again.... until one of them
found him a wife.  He grabbed his cap from where he had tossed it earlier and made for
the door. He was beginning to think he’d better do the job properly himself before
anyone else got hurt.
	“Reese, wait!” 
	He stopped and turned to face her.  She had suddenly sprung into action, had
jumped off her seat and was making a bee-line towards him, while her hand fervently
sought something in the pocket of her dress. He waited, albeit impatiently, to see what
new bomb she was going to lay on him this time.
	“I almost forgot. Reese, I’m really sorry I’ve caused you so much grief today,
really I am.  Let me make it up to you?.” He stood, one eyebrow lifted, looking down at
her, but said nothing.  She cleared her throat and went on. “I promised Martha
Bloomburg that I’d ask you to drop by and have a look at her yard. She wants to have it
completely re-done. I told her you’re the best in the business. Please, can you drop by
there tomorrow and have a look? I know you’re busy Reese, but ten-thirty would be
perfect for her. I told her I was certain you could make it then.”
	Monica looked up at him with her best pleading-for-forgiveness look and Reese
shook his head in exasperation. Somehow she had managed to turn doing her and her
friends a favour into making it up to him, but he supposed business was business. He
snatched the paper she was holding out to him, said his goodbye, and left the house.

	Reese looked down at the scrap of paper in his hand.  He looked back at the
house he had parked his truck in front of, squinted down the street to where he could
just make out the name on the street sign, then back at the paper, and sighed. 
Scrawled across it, in his aunt’s elegant handwriting, was an address.  This address.
Just last night she had given it to him, begging him to drop by and have a look at the
yard-work her friend wanted him to do. Ten-thirty would be perfect, she had said.  It
wasn’t like he was just sitting around with time on his hands, waiting for another job to
just drop into his lap.  He had plenty of work, but he had begrudgingly put aside his plans
for the day and driven half way across town to meet the woman, and now here he was
standing on the road beside his truck, because no one was answering the door.
	He’d shown up early, but it was now ten-thirty and still no sign of anyone.  He’d
rung the doorbell twice, and circled the house to try knocking on the back door as well.
There seemed to be no sign of life anywhere on the property. He was quite convinced
that Martha Bloomburg wasn’t home.  He heaved a sigh and began looking around the
neighbourhood.  Up the street.  There was no sign of anyone. No cars anywhere, no
people moving about in any of the yards. Down the street.  Still not a single person in
sight.  He was beginning to wonder if anyone was home at any of the houses on this
street.  For that matter, did anyone even live on this street? The only sound he’d heard
since he’d arrived was that of the soft squeak of swings blowing lazily in the breeze in
the school yard across the street.
	He could have been half done old lady Baker’s lawn by now, he told himself, as
he swore under his breath and stuffed the paper back in his pocket.  She had been  a
regular customer since his humble beginnings, and at eighty-two years old she liked a
little consistency to say the least.  He always cut her lawn personally, on Wednesday
mornings, and she was going to expect him to have a pretty good reason for having sent
one of his men in his place today.  And then there was the estimate he had been going
to do after Mrs. Baker’s this morning.  They were turning the old train station into a
restaurant. The building was being renovated, tracks were being torn up and the entire
grounds were going to be completely landscaped. It would be at least a month job,
steady work for two or three of his men. Those were the jobs that made him his money,
and his reputation for that matter, but it was people like Mrs. Baker who reminded him
where he’d started this business of his, and he was bound and determined he wasn’t
going to turn his back on any of them.   
	He got a great sense of satisfaction, even pride, when a major project was
completed and he stood back and admired the results, patted his men on the back, and
congratulated them on a job well done.  But the best feeling of all was always still the
one he got when he looked at the faces of his residential customers as they thanked him
for his work.  People who got him to cut their grass, till their vegetable gardens in the
spring, edge their flower beds, or spray their lawns for weeds.  People who reminded
him where he started, and who appreciated his personal touch. 
	People like Mrs. Baker.  
	He could have been looking at her smiling face right this instant, listening to her
quaking voice as she told him his men were good workers, but none ever did the job as
good as when he did it himself.  Instead, here he was standing in front of an empty
house, waiting to see a woman who, he was beginning to think wasn’t even expecting
him.  Monica tended to take liberties with his time more frequently than he liked, and
what frustrated him most, was that he always let her do it.