Chapter 1 : Part 1

Hot Wheels and High Heels
by Jane Graves

Trophy wife Darcy McDaniel has just discovered that, thanks to her embezzling husband, her posh, upper-class life is gone for good. Now she's trading her suburban palace for a trailer park and her weekly salon appointments for a job. Darcy needs a new man-fast-one who'll keep her in the manner she darn well deserves. Problem is, the hottest prospect around is the my-way-or-the-highway hunk who's making off with her beloved Mercedes!

Ex-cop turned repo man John Stark is sure that hiring the furious blonde in his headlights is a colossal mistake. He knows Darcy's high-maintenance, designer-labels-only type-after all, he's used to taking their cars. But he never expected this hellion to have the smarts and the spunk to go from receptionist to repo agent in record time...or to drive him insane with desire. She's the last thing this tall, dark, and dangerous loner needs...and everything he never knew he wanted.

Chapter 1

On July twenty-fifth, Darcy McDaniel lost her house, her husband, and her self-respect. Then things really went downhill.

Looking back, she should have known something was up. After all, her husband, Warren, hoarded money like a survivalist hoards ammo, yet he made reservations at a five-star resort in Cancún, handed her two airline tickets, told her to grab her friend Carolyn, and live it up for a week. As he hustled her out the door, Darcy remembered thinking that even though he was fifty-seven, he was still a little young for senility. Unfortunately, she took his sudden generosity as a good thing, and that was about as far as her thought process on the matter went.

She and Carolyn spent a glorious week in Cancún. Scantily clad waiters brought them pitchers of margaritas while they lolled in beach chairs and dragged their toes in the sand. They ate the most superb gourmet food; had spa treatments involving hot rocks, cold compresses, and Alonzo's magical hands; and soaked up enough sun to give their skin a healthy glow without turning it into lizard hide.

After flying back to Dallas, they air-kissed and promised to make a trip to Mexico an annual tradition. Darcy hopped into her Mercedes Roadster, put down the top, and sped out of long-term parking at DFW. She jacked up the radio and savored the last moments of her vacation before going home to Warren.

At four-thirty in the afternoon, the Texas sun beat down on her shoulders like a blowtorch, but she liked the feel of the wind tossing her hair and the appreciative smiles of the men she zipped past, some of them young enough to be her . . . younger brothers. She smiled back, knowing they figured she was thirty, tops. Actually, she was thirty-nine, with the big four-oh only a few weeks away. She surprised herself by not caring about that. Thanks to her personal trainer, her hair colorist, and the miracle that was Botox, it was a secret no one ever had to know.

She stopped at Doggie Domain to pick up Pepé, who was delighted to see her. The tap, tap, tap of his tiny toenails, along with his buggy little eyes staring up at her adoringly, made her heart melt. She scooped him up and rubbed her cheek over his silky hair, inhaling the aroma of vanilla-scented doggie shampoo. Long-haired Chihuahuas weren't any less neurotic than short-haired ones, but all that hair did help cushion the frantic beating of their little hearts. Still, Pepé's was thumping even faster than normal, because it always freaked him out a little to be away from home. But since Warren didn't communicate well with other species, letting Pepé stay with people who spoke dog - particularly dog with a Mexican accent - was better for all concerned.

By the time Darcy reached Plano, it was nearly five o'clock. She drove down Preston Road, which was flanked by immaculate strip malls, restaurants, and movie theaters. Everything in Plano was brand-new and squeaky clean, unless of course you crossed Central Expressway into old east Plano, which was what Plano used to be before it became home base for a substantial segment of corporate America. Over there you'd better have a damned good car alarm and hang on to your wallet with both hands. She'd grown up in east Plano, so she knew for a fact it was a good place to be from.

A few minutes later, Darcy was motoring down Briarwood Lane, heading for her house at the end of the block. On either side of the street, huge two-story brick houses stood as monuments to upward mobility, with massive front doors inset with etched glass, arched windows, pristine landscaping, and a swimming pool in every backyard. Coming home to a place she loved after a week of being pampered put her in such a fabulous mood that when Warren got home, she was going to hand him a glass of water and a little blue pill and show him her appreciation. She swung into the alley, then pulled into her driveway, hit the garage door opener, and got a shock.

Two unfamiliar cars sat in the garage.

Her first thought was that since Warren had a thing for cars, he'd done a little buying or trading while she was out of town. That theory might have held water, except one of the cars was a Buick sedan and the other a Ford Explorer, and Warren would never have bought any vehicles so painfully ordinary.

Houseguests? While she was away?

She grabbed Pepé and got out of the car. On her way through the garage to the back door, she noticed a car seat in the back of the SUV.

Houseguests with kids?

She went inside and set Pepé down. He trotted off with a jingle of dog tags. When she rounded the corner into the kitchen, she got another surprise. Four strangers sat at her breakfast-room table.

And Warren was nowhere in sight.

Odd little chills snaked up her spine. She put her handbag on the kitchen counter. Several boxes sat along one wall, a few of them standing open. She had no idea what that was all about.

She feigned a friendly smile. "Uh . . . hello?"

A thirty something man in a rumpled polo shirt was holding up a forkful of pasta, as if he'd stopped midbite when he heard her come in. The nondescript woman beside him looked equally dumbstruck, an expression that exaggerated the frown lines around her mouth. The ponytailed preschool girl kicked her feet back and forth and blinked curiously. The baby sitting in a high chair smashed a graham cracker in his fist, then deposited the crumbs all over Darcy's marble tile floor.

The man stood up, his brows drawing together like dueling caterpillars. "Who are you?"

Darcy eased back, feeling a little defensive. Wasn't she the one who should be asking that question?

"You must be friends of Warren's," she said.

"Warren?" the man said. "Warren McDaniel?"

"Yes. I'm his wife, Darcy."

"His wife?"

Copyright © 2007 by Jane Graves

About the Author

At age five, Jane Graves wrote and illustrated her first book, Padre the Mexican Mouse. It was a hit among family and friends, but failed to make the bestseller lists. And when she realized she'd named her dashing young mouse hero "Father," she was crushed.