The Pride of Jared MacKade by Nora Roberts

windows framed in lace that had the sunlight streaming in patterns on the highly polished floor.
    A four-poster with a lacy canopy dominated the space. There were candles, slim tapers of ivory, and rose burned downed to varying lengths that stood on the mantel in crystal holders. An elegant lady’s desk was topped by a globe lamp. Petit-point chairs, curved edged tables. A pale pink vase crowded with sunny daffodils.
    No, she’d never seen anything so lovely. How could she have? she reminded herself. Her life had been dingy trailers, cramped rooms and highway motels.
    Envy snaked through her so quickly she winced.
    “Jared said your wife did the decorating.”
    “For the most part.”
    What would it be like, Savannah wondered, to have such exquisite taste. To know exactly what should go where?
    “It’s beautiful,” she said again. “When you’re ready to open, you’ll have to beat off guests with a stick.”
    “We’re shooting for September. It’s a little optimistic, but we might pull it off.” His head turned, his eyes changed at the sound of the door opening downstairs. “That’s Regan.”
    Savannah had a firsthand view of what a MacKade looked like when he was very much in love. Another surprising snake of envy curled through her.
    “Up here, darling,” Rafe called out. “I’m in the bedroom with a gorgeous woman.”
    “That’s supposed to surprise me?” Regan strolled into the room. “Hello, Savannah.” It was all she managed to get out before Rafe cupped a hand behind her neck and drew her up for a lengthy welcoming kiss. “Hello, Rafe.”
    “Hi.”
    They beamed at each other. Savannah could think of no other word for it. Unless the word was perfect. Regan MacKade, with her swing of glossy brown hair, her elegant face with its charming little mole beside the mouth, her lovely blue eyes the color of summer skies, seemed perfect as she slipped an arm around her husband.
    Her clothes were beautifully tailored—the teal blazer and pleated slacks, the smart white shirt with the copper bar pin at the collar. She had a sexy-lady scent about her. Not prim, not overt. Just perfect.
    Savannah felt like a grubby Amazon who’d stumbled on a princess.
    “I’ve been giving Savannah the tour,” Rafe explained.
    “Great.” Regan pushed back the right curtain of her hair, and rings glittered on her fingers. “What do you think so far?”
    “It’s wonderful.” Savannah remembered the beer in her hand and lifted to it her lips.
    “Let’s not stop here.” With a friendly smile, Regan led the way out. “Jared called the shop this morning and said he’d like us to work on redoing his offices.”
    “About damn time,” Rafe commented. “The place is as cheerful as a mausoleum. White and gray. Might as well work in a tomb.”
    “We’ll fix that.” With boundless confidence and enthusiasm, Regan showed off the house.
    Every room, whether it was complete or in progress and filled with nothing more than dust and cobwebs, scraped at Savannah’s confidence. She knew nothing of fine antiques, expensive rugs or window treatments.
    She didn’t want to know.
    “Jared’s really impressed with your art,” Regan went on as they wound their way down to the first floor. “Obviously it inspired him to do something about his work space. I’d love to see some of what you’ve done.”
    “It’s no big deal. I don’t have any training.”
    Savannah took one long scan of the front parlor, with its curvy settee and elegant side tables, and jammed her hands in the pockets of her jeans. A marble fireplace gleamed like glass, set off with polished brass tools andandirons. And everything, down to the last candlestick, was picture-perfect.
    “Nothing of mine would fit in here, that’s for sure. Or a lawyer’s office, either. Thanks for the tour. And the beer,” she added, handing Rafe the empty bottle. “I’ve got to go pick up my kid.”
    “Oh.” Surprised by the abrupt exit, Regan followed her to the