Match Me If You Can

'You're fired.'

She stumbled on one of the flagstones. There was no emotion in his voice, no expression of regret for good times and shared laughs, only a stony declaration.

'You can't mean that.'

'Oh, I mean it, all right.'

'It's a kids' party! It's no big deal.'

He walked away without another word.

She stood chilled and silent in the shadow of an old elm. She'd done it again. Once more, she'd let her impulsiveness lead her into disaster. She knew him well enough by now to understand how much he hated being put at a disadvantage. How could she have believed he'd find this amusing? Maybe she hadn't. Maybe the person she'd really intended to sabotage was herself.

Her mother was right. It couldn't be entirely coincidental that everything Annabelle attached herself to failed. Did she believe she didn't deserve success? Was that why all her ventures ended in disaster?

She leaned against the trunk of the elm and tried not to cry.

Chapter Nine

Heath was furious. He didn't like looking foolish under any circumstances, but especially not in front of Phoebe Calebow. Yet here he was, completely out of his element. If the party had involved teenagers, he'd have been fine. He liked teenagers. He knew how to talk to them. But little kids-little female kids-were a mystery to him.

His anger against Annabelle grew. She thought putting one over on him was funny, but nothing involving Phoebe amused him. Where business was concerned, he didn't play games. Annabelle knew that, but she'd decided to test him, and he'd had to cut her off at the knees. He wouldn't let it bother him, either. Sentiment and second- guessing were for losers.

He focused on the Calebows' backyard with its swimming pool, climbing trees, and open stretch of well-used yard, all of it designed for a large family. This afternoon, pink filmy crap hung from the trees, around the flagstone patio, and over the jungle gym. It also festooned tiny tables where pink balloons bobbed in the breeze above the back of each small chair. Glittery dresses like the one Pippi Tucker wore spilled from pink cardboard cartons, and a battered pink wagon held a pile of plastic slippers. Fake pink jewels decorated a throne-shaped chair sitting in the middle of the patio. Only the green dragon pniata dangling from the branch of a maple tree had escaped the pink plague.

He'd always been comfortable in his body, but now he felt awkward and out of place. He glanced toward the swimming pool and experienced a flicker of hope. In a pool, he'd be right at home. Unfortunately, the iron gate was padlocked. Apparently Molly and Phoebe had decided supervising so many little kids around water was too dangerous, but he'd have supervised the damn kids. He liked danger. If he'd gotten lucky, one of the little buggers would have gone under for a while, and he could have saved her from drowning. That would have caught Phoebe's attention.

The Stars' owner stood behind the farthest of the little tables, setting out some kind of cardboard whoogees. Like everybody else, she had one of those frickin' pink crowns on her head, and he regarded her with a profound sense of personal insult. Team owners should wear Stetsons or go bareheaded. No other options.

Phoebe chose that moment to look up. Her eyes widened in surprise, and she dropped one of the cardboard whoogees. 'Heath?'

'Hey, Phoebe.'

'Well. And isn't this special?' She snatched up the- whatever-the-hell they were. 'As much as I'd love to climb into the trenches with you for another round of mud wrestling, I'm a little busy now.'

'Annabelle thought you could use some help.'

'And you're it? I don't think so.'

He arranged his mouth in his most disarming smile. 'I'll admit I'm a little out of my element, but if you point me in the right direction, I'll give it my best.'

Instead of charming her, he'd made her suspicious, and her face assumed its customary distrustful expression. Before she could interrogate him, however, an army of little girls charged around the corner. Some of them held hands, others walked by themselves. They came in different shapes, different colors, and one of them was crying.

'New places can be scary,' he heard Hannah say, 'but everybody here is very, very nice. And if you get really scared, come and tell me. I'll take you for a walk. Also, if you need to go to the potty, I'll show you where it is. Our doggie is all locked up so she can't jump on anybody. And if you see a bee, tell one of the grown-ups.'

This must be what Molly had meant when she'd said that Hannah got emotionally involved.

Molly stepped toward the pink cardboard boxes. 'Every princess needs a beautiful gown, and here are yours.' A few of the bolder girls rushed forward.

Phoebe thrust the whoogees in his hand. 'Put one of these at each place. And you'd better not charge me for it.' She hurried away to help.

Annabelle was nowhere to be seen. He'd come down on her hard, and he wasn't surprised that she needed time to recover. He ignored an unpleasant twinge in his gut. She'd brought this on herself when she'd crossed the line. He studied the whoogees, pink cardboard starbursts glued to the ends of wooden dowels. His mood grew gloomier. They must be magic wands. What the hell did magic wands have to do with helping girls learn math and science? He'd been good at both. He could have helped them with math and science. Weren't these girls supposed to be building skills? Screw magic wands. He'd have handed out some fucking calculators.

He tossed the wands on the table and looked around for Annabelle, but she still hadn't appeared, which was starting to bother him. Even though he'd needed to sack her, he didn't want to destroy her. High-pitched screams emerged from the gown boxes. Although the girls looked like an army, there were only fifteen or so of them. Something brushed his leg, and he gazed down into the face of Pippi Tucker. The theme from Jaws raced through his head.

The three-year-old's gown was the color of Pepto-Bismol, her eyes green gumballs of innocence. Only the rakish tilt of the pink tiara in her blond curls hinted at a desperado's heart. She held out a tiara she was clutching in her grubby little fist. 'You gotta wear a crown.'

'Not in this lifetime.' He gave her a ministare, enough to get his point across without making her scream for her mother.

Her small, pale eyebrows shot together just like her father's when he spotted a safety blitz.

'Heath!' Molly's voice emerged from a pool of gowns, sequins, and little girls. 'Keep your eye on Pippi till we get everybody dressed, will you?'

'My pleasure.' He looked down at the kid.

The kid looked up at him.

He studied her gumball eyes and pink tiara.

She scratched her arm.

He searched his brain and finally came up with something. 'Anybody ever teach you how to use a calculator?'

The squeals emanating from the direction of the gown box grew louder. Pippi tipped her chin to get a better view of him, and her tiara scooted farther back on her head. 'You got some bubbles?'

'What?'

'I like bubbles.'

'Uh-huh.'

Her eyes darted to his pockets. 'Where's your phone?'

'Let's go see how your mother's doing.'

'I wanna see your phone.'

'Give me back my old one first, and then we'll talk.'

She grinned. 'I luvvvv phones.'

'Tell me about it.'