Strange Bedfellows. Kasey MichaelsЧитать онлайн книгу.

      Chapter One

      As she rounded a curve in the highway, Cassandra Mercer recognized the tall form she saw about one hundred yards in the distance.

      And then she smiled, quietly deciding that there was a God—and She was on her side.

      Because, after a grueling three-hour school board meeting during which her nemesis, her thorn in the side, her most blockheaded, stubborn, unreasonable parent, had once more made her life miserable by questioning her methods in the area of student counseling, she was now watching this same nemesis walk along the side of the road in a driving rainstorm.

      Some might even call it a bit of well-deserved poetic justice.

      “Ah,” she said mockingly, her smile turning to a cheek-splitting grin even as she lifted her foot from the gas pedal. “Was that your brand-new Mercedes I saw abandoned about a half mile back, Mr. Sean Oughta-be-fitted-for-a-Frame and then hanged? I thought so, but I guess I just didn’t believe life could be this good. Lovely weather for a long, cold, wet walk, don’t you think?”

      And she laughed.

      The June weather in Grand Springs had been rather pleasant when she had driven up this same twisting road on her way to Burke Senior High School that same morning. But, as she’d learned during her years living in Colorado, the weather was always subject to quick change, and June had been a more than usually damp month this year.

      Wet, soggy.

      But the sun had come out for a while that morning, so Cassandra had optimistically left her raincoat at home. Now, as yet another rainstorm battered against the windshield, she was beginning to rethink her joke to her cat, Festus, just this morning about building her own ark.

      She slowed her Jeep to a crawl after making sure nobody was behind her, wishing Sean Frame had also optimistically left his raincoat at home. But not him. Not Mr. Perfect. He looked ready to do a speech on Being Prepared for any Emergency. Raincoat on—designer, of course. Waterproof hat jammed down on his head—at a jaunty angle, damn him. Flashlight in his hand—and the batteries worked.

      Cassandra squinted through the rain and deepening dusk. “Son of a gun—he’s even wearing boots. Boots! What else? Could he possibly also have dental floss in his pocket? Hey, you never know when you’ll be lost in the woods and need to live on nuts and berries. Can’t neglect dental hygiene just because you’re stranded, for crying out loud. Jeez! Is it any wonder I hate this guy?”

      Which she didn’t, not really. Hate him, that was. She wished she could, but she didn’t. He was stubborn but intriguing. Thickheaded, yet genuinely intelligent. Stern and straight-arrow, and with the most damnable way of taking her words and twisting them into something silly and shallow, but…but…

      But now he was wet. And stranded. And being forced to walk all the way down the hill in the rain. She really should be feeling sorry for him, not vetting his appearance, trying to rationalize her mixed feelings for him. Yes. That was it. She should be feeling sorry for the handsome, infuriating rat. Okay. She’d give him some sympathy.

      Poor baby…snicker, snicker.

      Well, that didn’t work. She still pretty much loathed the mud he was slipping and sliding in. But maybe it was the thought that counted. And, boy, was she thinking! She was thinking: Oh, joy. Oh, happiness. Oh, how much fun it would be to speed past the miserable man, spraying cold rainwater in her wake, maybe even tooting her horn and waving as she flashed past.

      And it would serve the man right!

      If only Cassandra, the sole child born to already middle-aged parents, hadn’t been raised always to be nothing less than a “thoughtful, polite, proper young lady.” A very conventional young lady. A young lady who would never, ever, even be tempted to