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  leon called on people he knew to lead their neighbors out of the hall. Emmylou was called on to exit behind Ernie, who was standing in for Mar-shall Ney.

  Soon everyone stood outside the bingo hall looking at Napoleon. Including Emmylou. She’d never seen the man so commanding. Helmut really should have gone for a life in the military, she thought.

  Geraldine Mullet stalked out of the place. Instead of the candlestick or the old-model gun, she held Harold Beasman’s fireman hat in one hand and Harold’s ear in the other, by which she was dragging him. “My dress is ruined,” she cried. “You’re nothing but a damned Yankee.”

  “Madame,” Napoleon said. Geraldine Mullet looked up at him. “My Josephine.” He smiled down at her and held out his hand. “Come, my empress. We will depart this place.”

  Geraldine dropped the hat and poor Harold’s ear and tottered forward. “Oh yes, Rhett. Take me away from here.”

  Joe ran forward and knelt with his hands cupped so Geraldine could place her foot there, and then he hoisted her up to settle sideways in Napoleon’s lap.

  It was a mishmash of historical time periods and Hollywood endings, but as an exit it was superb. The black stallion tossed its head and Helmut circled Geraldine’s waist with his arm.

  With a brisk nod to the gaping crowd, he turned the horse and they cantered away.

  “Did you plan that ending?” Joe asked Emmylou softly.

  She sighed deeply, watching the horse disappear from view. “I couldn’t have dreamed up

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  anything so perfect,” she said, hazarding a pretty shrewd guess that Geraldine Mullet was soon going to appear in Empire-waist dresses and hang on Napoleon’s arm. In fact, she thought, they made a pretty cute couple.

  “Why didn’t you just tell us this town was full of kooks?” Milt Gellman said to Joe over a beer at Ernie’s tavern. The place was packed, but they had a corner to themselves, and it was clear that as soon as they left the real celebration would begin. “We wasted a bunch of time and money on this site for nothing.” He groaned.

  “Shit, I gotta get back and see my chiropractor.

  My lumbar is definitely out. I should sue those crackpots.”

  “They don’t have any money,” Joe reminded him.

  “Right. And they’re sure as shit not getting any of ours.”

  “So you definitely don’t want to proceed on this?”

  “What, are you hard of hearing? I never want to set foot in this place again. Bunch of weirdos.”

  He groaned again and rubbed his lower back.

  “We’re heading out tonight. I can’t stand this place. We’ll spend the night in Spokane and fly out tomorrow. You coming?”

  “No. I’ve . . . got some things to wrap up.”

  “Yeah, well, when you get back to New York we’ll start looking for another location for a plant. And not in a nut farm.”

  “You’ll want to get on your way pretty soon,”

  Joe said, thinking Ernie’s would be rocking the minute they left.

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  The thin Gellman drove them back to the Shady Lady. “I’ll go settle the bill.” He left, and Milt looked at Joe and said, “Goddamn bed and breakfast. Doesn’t even have a porter.”

  “Right. Let me carry your bags down to the car for you. Save your back.”

  He didn’t even glance Emmylou’s way as he passed her in the foyer, where she was chatting pleasantly to Eric Gellman while he signed his charge card slip.

  Joe put the bags in the Gellmans’ rental car and shook hands with them both before watching them drive away.

  He walked slowly back to the Shady Lady. Emmylou walked around from behind the desk.

  “Well? Are they gone?”

  He nodded.

  “Are they ever coming back?”

  He shook his head.

  “Wa-hoo!” she cried. “We did it!”

  She ran forward into his arms and he spun her around, then stopped to kiss her long and hard.

  Holding that sweet, sweet body in his arms gave him some ideas on exactly how he wanted to celebrate the crash of a big deal. Not caring in the slightest that the aunts were looking on, he picked up his woman and showed her exactly how the Rhett and Scarlett climbing the stairs thing was done.

  When he kicked her door shut behind them, he carried her to her bed and laid her gently down. “I fell asleep last night in your bed,” he said, still hardly able to believe it.

  “I know.” She smiled up at him, her eyes telling him she knew exactly what that meant to him.

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  “You cured me.”

  “You saved Beaverton.”

  “I need to make love to you so badly I hurt.”

  For answer, she attacked his belt buckle, and when she had them both naked, she climbed on top of him and took them both for a ride.

  While he thrust up into her, he knew he wasn’t leaving. Not this woman. What he was going to do he hadn’t figured out yet, but he knew he was going to be the man who proved to Emmylou that the right man stayed.

  By the time they’d recovered their breath, cars were arriving and townspeople showing up at the door. Within the hour all the major players in the town meeting farce were assembled in Emmylou’s parlor.

  “Tea?” Emmylou asked the assembled company.

  “Or scotch?” Joe asked, flourishing the Johnny Walker Black Label that the Gellman brothers had left behind unopened.

  When the beverages of choice were dished out, Emmylou raised her scotch glass and said,

  “I’d like to make a toast. To all of us for saving our town.”

  “Those awful men did have a point, though,”

  said Olive, “about the local economy not exactly thriving.”

  “But we’re all getting by. We’re all happy.”

  “Sure, but it’s hard for the young people.

  They mostly leave. It sure would be nice to have something for them to do around here.”

  Dr. Hartnett nodded. “Olive’s right. Plus, we may have driven off the cat litter factory, but the sanitarium still owes back taxes. That’s a prime

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  piece of property. Someday, somebody’s going to buy it up.”

  “I’ve got some ideas about that,” Joe said, as the obvious answer hit him like a lightning bolt.

  “What now?” Lydia piped up. “A flea collar factory?” She and the old boy who’d played Tony in the town play were holding hands and mooning at each other. Her wrinkled beau laughed his head off at her joke.

  Joe shook his head, but he smiled at her anyway. How could he resist? “I cannot believe I didn’t see it sooner. It’s perfect.”

  “What’s perfect?” Emmylou asked. He heard the thread of hope in her voice and he hung on to it.

  “Dr. Emmet Beaver’s sanitarium for health, both physical and mental. You know what we call that kind of place today?”

  Everyone stared at him, then Emmylou’s expression changed from puzzlement to wide-eyed delight. “A spa?”

  “Yes. A spa. I’ve got connections and investors. There are hot springs, the kind you can drink. There’s the scenery, which is superb.”

  “So you did notice,” Emmylou said.

  “After you pointed out what was under my nose, yes. There’s the main building, which will need some renovation but has a lot going for it.”

  He remembered the marble baths and thought those alone would pack in the guests.

  “We’ll do all the usual treatments, the facials, the wraps, the specialty baths, but we’ll also offer this unique location, we’ll offer walking tours and trail rides. We’ve already got so much here to take advantage of. There’s Amy’s or-

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  ganic herbs and vegetables, the horses that are perfect for city slickers, the air’s clean.”

  Gordon Hartnett spoke up. “I’ve found something in this water that I’ve still been unable to identify exactly, but there is no doubt in my mind that it’s healthier here. People will come back again and again.”

  “We’ve got something else, too,” Olive said.

  “What’s that?” Joe asked.

  “I found the recipe for Dr. Beaver’s special tonic.”

  “You mean the love potion? You found the recipe?” For a medical doctor, Gord sounded pretty damned excited.

  “If we get started right away, we can have a batch ready for my birthday,” Lydia said. “Under the O, orgy!” Then she looked at her old boyfriend sitting next to her with his eyebrows raised.

  “Oh, what the hell,” she said. “We can play strip bingo. Just the two of us.”

  Gord whispered to his wife, who nodded and said, “If you want a local investor, Joe, count me in.”

  “Me, too,” said Aunt Olive.

  Joe blinked, saw Emmylou was also showing signs of shock. “What do you mean?” Emmylou asked her. “You’ve got money to invest?”

  “Honey, your great-grandfather was a very smart man. You know all his theories about electricity?”

  “Yes.”

  Olive nodded smugly. “In his will he left me and Lydia a thousand shares of stock in General Electric. I’ve never sold a single one. Didn’t have any reason to. But Emmet would sure love this.”

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  “I can’t believe—”

  “I’ve got my thousand, as well,” Lydia piped in.

  “Why didn’t you ever say anything?”

  The two old women looked at each other.

  “You’ve got a thousand, too.”

  “What?”

  “Your grandmother left them to us for you.”

  The old woman grinned. “Do you have any idea what those shares are worth now? With all the times the shares have split, and the dividends that we’ve reinvested—well, it’s a small fortune.”

  After the way she’d been stretching pennies lately, she was having trouble taking in the news.

  And also, she wasn’t pleased to have been kept in the dark. “But why in trust?”

  “Patrice wanted you to have something to fall back on if you ever needed a financial cushion.

  She was worried you’d do something stupid if you had the shares too soon.”

  “Well, that’s ridiculous. I’m not foolish with money.”

  “What would you have done with it?”

  “Well, I’d have, I’d have . . .” Joe watched as Emmylou sent her aunts a rueful look. “I’d have paid off the back taxes on Emmet’s property.”

  They nodded in unison. “Your gran wanted you to be able to leave if this town ever died, which, let’s face it, it came close to doing.”

  “But now?”

  “Now we pay off the taxes and let’s build ourselves a spa.”

  They all turned to Joe, who was still trying to absorb the fact that so many of these fruitcakes were crazy like foxes. “What do we do now, Joe?”

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  “Now, you let me do what I do best. I’ll put this deal together.”

  “From New York?” Emmylou asked, looking at her drink instead of him.

  “No, Em. From right here.”

  She glanced up quickly and he saw the hope leap into her eyes.

  “This is where I belong.”

  Olive snorted. “You mean you’re crazy, too?”

  “No,” Joe said, still looking at Emmylou. “I was crazy before. Now I know that following your dream is more important than making more money or bringing in more business. I know that people are more important than gain and that good friends and loved ones are the true riches.”

  “Oh, Joe,” Emmylou said, and she rose from her chair and walked straight over to him. She kissed him, and he knew in that moment that the craziest thing he’d ever done was also the sanest.

  If you liked this Nancy Warren book, you’ve got to try her other titles available from Brava . . .

  BAD BOYS DOWN UNDER

  Join USA Today bestselling author Nancy Warren for three of the hottest Aussie imports to hit these shores. When these bad boys come to visit, you’re guaranteed a g’day, mate.

  Sizzling in Sydney

  Sexy, macho Cameron Crane knows he needs marketing guru Jennifer Talbot to take his Australian surf and boogie board business into the lucrative American market. No worries, mate. He’ll just seduce the little Sheila. But the minute Cameron lays eyes on Jenn, cornering the market on pleasuring her becomes his number one goal . . .

  one he’s ready to fully commit to . . .

  Surfer Boy

  Handling the advertising campaign for Crane surf and boogie boards is ad exec Lise Atwater’s dream job. But turning the Australian surfer boy into a product spokesman is going to take a lot of work. Hunky Steve Jackson is a take-me-as-I-am kind of guy who thinks he’s in the States to party and bed women. But when the ad campaign moves behind closed doors, it’s clear that neither is selling the other anything . . . and the white-hot ecstasy is completely mutual . . .

  The Great Barrier

  Dumped by his fiancée, Mark Forsythe decides to sow his wild oats down under. On his first night, the novice bad boy passes out in slinky Bronwyn Spencer’s bed. Though nothing happened, Bronwyn’s happy to let Mark think they’ve shared a night of passion so hot, he’s got to experience it again. And she has every intention of showing the terminally “good” Mark know just how delicious a walk on the wild side can be . . .

  BRITISH BAD BOYS

  What woman isn’t a sucker for a sexy hunk with a hot English accent and a very large . . . estate?

  Fall in lust with three British Bad Boys who like it shaken and stirred, and who know exactly how to give a woman the royal treatment, in bed and out . . .

  George and the Dragon Lady George Hartley is high on the list of England’s most eligible bachelors: he’s young, single, gorgeous—and, as the 19th Earl of Ponsford, lives in a castle. Granted, the castle has seen better days . . .

  but nights with the Earl are what L.A. TV producer Maxine Larraby keeps thinking about . . .

  Nights Round Arthur’s Table Seattle thriller author Meg Stanton desperately needs a quiet place to work. Stag Cottage in the English countryside is perfect . . . until she meets local pub owner Arthur Denby. He’s as dark and brooding as one of her imaginary villains, and Meg always falls for her villains. But there’s nothing imaginary about the things Arthur does to her after last call . . .

  Union Jack

  Former head chef and current love cynic Rachel Larraby can’t believe she got dragged across the pond for a catering job. Weddings—

  ugh, she’s had enough personal experience, thanks. And though recurring best man Jack Flynt is quite smashing, she can keep it to just a steamy fling. Until this very bad bloke starts looking at her with those forever eyes . . .

  DRIVE ME CRAZY

  Can’t a guy look up a woman’s skirt . . .

  . . . without losing part of his anatomy? It isn’t my fault the town librarian, aka Miss Alex For-rest, likes to perch on high heels and tall ladders for a guy’s maximum viewing pleasure. The lady’s bod and choice of outfit may be muy caliente, but the gaze is icy. Freezing. Arctic-in-a-bikini cold. Give her time. She’ll come around to the old Duncan Forbes charm. And once I have that Alex in bed, she’ll tell me everything I need to know about this town and its link to the lost painting my employers paid me to find . . .

  I’d rather eat drain cleaner . . .

  . . . than spend one more minute with that smug, big-city art professor, Duncan Forbes.

  The “Indiana Jones of the Art World”? Please.

  He couldn’t find the Architecture stack till I pointed it out. And if I grabbed hold of his well-toned arm, it’s not because he happens to be the sexiest man ever to destroy my Dewey Deci-mal System, it’s because I’m not used to finding a dead body in my library and a girl can be excused a weak moment . . .

  In the town of Swiftcurrent, Oregon, things are heating up. Dead bodies and missing master-pieces, family secrets and dangerous threats, a man who likes to feel his way around a problem and a woman who enjoys being the problem . . .

  it’s all adding up to the kind of steamy sleuthing that just may lead them both beyond tempta-tion and put their desires in drive . . .

  And keep an eye out for Nancy’s latest, THE ONE I WANT,

  coming next month from Brava . . .

  As usual, curiosity was stronger than caution.

  He picked up the envelope. Chloe was hand-written on the front. The envelope was soft, the flap tucked in but not sealed. A man with strong moral fiber and a healthy conscience would walk right next door and push the envelope through the correct mail slot.

  He pulled out the tucked flap and peeked inside, where he found a wad of cash. And a note.

  “Chloe, thanks so much. Didn’t want this on my credit card for obvious reasons. Everything worked out great. I’d use you again. Allan.”

  He counted the money. Stood there chewing his upper lip with an unpleasant feeling that both he and his London acquaintance Gerald had been snowed. Then he shoved the money back and walked outside into the cool of morning. Lights were on in a few of his neighbors’

  windows and Horace Black across the street and two down, was backing his new truck down the driveway.

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  Up and down the street were signs of life, but in his new neighbor’s house nothing. She’d been here for two weeks and while she seemed like a good tenant, she came and went at strange hours. He had a bad feeling he now knew why.

  He strode next door and knocked on her front door, perhaps a little more aggressively than necessary.

  He’d been conned and he didn’t like being conned.

  Probably he should go back to his house and drink some coffee, give himself a chance to cool down and little miss ‘I’ll use your services again,’ time to wake up. But he didn’t feel like doing the sensible thing.

  He gave it a minute then banged again, holding the bell with his finger at the same time.

  After an age and a half, the front door opened.

  Chloe Flynt stood there, her black hair soft and tousled in the sexiest case of bed head he’d ever seen. Her eyes were the most amazing purple-blue, and they gazed at him in the vaguely unfo-cussed way of someone who’s not totally awake yet. He had no idea what—if anything—she was wearing since everything from the neck down was behind the door.