No Wife Required!. Rebecca WintersЧитать онлайн книгу.

      CHAPTER ONE

      “HI, ALL of you listeners out there. Thanks for tuning in to a little Heart Talk with yours truly, Max Jarvis.

      “Once again it’s time to settle back and get comfortable. Put your feet up, eat a little snack, and concentrate on your deepest feelings about love, romance, and the intriguing, mysterious relationship between men and women.

      “You know... in this morning’s newspaper, there was an article that gave me a lot of food for thought. I’ve pondered it all day. According to a recent poll, seventy-six percent of the married women in Utah hold either part-time or full-time jobs in the workforce. The article went on to say that this figure was fairly typical of the percentage of married women working outside the home nationwide.

      “I don’t know about you guys, but I feel kind of sad about that figure. The world can be a cold, cruel place for a soft, desirable, lovely woman. What do you suppose ever happened to the wife who stayed home to keep the love nest clean, cook delicious, wholesome meals, watch over the children while the husband was forced to leave the comfort of her arms to earn the living? What ever happened to the wife who used to greet her bruised and battered other half with a rejuvenating kiss and a hug at the end of a hard day?”

      “That does it!” Lacey West muttered furiously beneath her breath, standing on her brakes after roaring into the parking stall of her sister and brother-in-law’s condo. While Valerie and Brad were away on business in the Far East, Lacey had agreed to house-sit their place.

      As soon as she flicked off Radio Talk, she dashed into the condo, determined to phone the radio station and give Max Jarvis a piece of her mind. In his way, he was quite brilliant, but he’d only come from the West Coast two months ago and wasn’t a native Utahn. He didn’t understand the real story behind most local issues, which was almost as irritating as his outdated opinions about love expressed on his Heart Talk segment.

      She hated to admit that he did have one redeeming quality however, it was a sexy voice. She was almost tempted to drop by the station to get a close look to see if the rest of him lived up to ‘The Voice’ as she’d secretly named him.

      Lacey had a theory about voices. They were more important than faces. She could love or hate on the strength of a voice. And Max Jarvis’s voice definitely belonged on her special list along with Pavarotti and Timothy Dalton. Hundreds of new radio listeners attributed to his program had been lured by his voice. They just weren’t aware of its seductive quality.

      Still, his outsider status rendered him invalid in Lacey’s eyes. He hadn’t a clue about the history behind the city’s school boundary disputes, the flooding cycle of the Great Salt Lake, or the attorney general quitting his post, midterm, to take a higher paying job in the workforce, irritating the voters who elected him.

      As for his antiquated theories on marriage...

      With the light of battle kindling her forest-green eyes, she let herself in the back door of the condo. George, the lovable, trained capuchin monkey she was tending for her psychologist friend, Lorraine, must have heard her put the key in the lock because he wrapped his arms around her legs when she walked in.

      Lacey experienced a stab of positively maternal feeling as she patted his head. “I’ve missed you, too. Come on. Let’s eat. I’m starving.”

      While she made a tossed salad and broiled a couple of lamb chops, she turned on the radio in the kitchen, then called the station on her cordless phone.

      She must have tried a dozen times, but the male callers siding with Max Jarvis had jammed the lines. When she finally connected and was told to hold, there were only three minutes left before he went off the air for the night. She doubted she’d get on.

      With George settled in the far corner of the kitchen to eat his greens and sunflower seeds, she put her food on the kitchen table and sat down to her own meal, the receiver still wedged between her ear and chin.

      Finally she heard a click. “Hi, Lorraine. This is Max Jarvis.”

      Lacey took a fortifying breath. Lorraine was the fake name she’d given his producer. For privacy’s sake, she never used her own name and picked a different one whenever she called in on a talk show.

      “Yes, Mr. Jarvis, I know who you are.” The sarcasm oozed out of her.

      “I don’t recognize your voice, Lorraine. You must be a first-time caller.”

      His