Page 6 of The Playboy and the Widow
“Diana.”
He paused, his hands holding the wrench against the pipe. “It fits.”
“The pipe?”
“No,” he said, grinning. “Your name.” He pictured a Diana as soft and feminine, and this one was definitely that. Her hair was the color of winter wheat. She smelled of flowers and sunshine; summer at its best. Her face was sensual and provocative. Mature. She’d walked through the shadow-filled valley and emerged strong and confident.
Self-consciously Diana placed her hand at her throat. “I was named after my grandmother.”
Cliff continued to work, then altered positions from lying under the sink on his back to kneeling. “It looks like I’m going to have to take off the disposal to get at the problem.”
“Should I be doing something to help?”
“A cup of coffee wouldn’t hurt.”
“Oh, sorry, I should have thought to offer you some earlier.” Diana hurried to her antique automatic-drip coffeemaker and put on a fresh pot, getting the water from the bathroom. She stood by the cantankerous machine while it gurgled and drained. Soon the aroma of freshly brewed coffee filled the kitchen.
When the pot was full, Diana brought down a mug and knelt on the linoleum in front of Cliff. “Here.”
“Thanks.” He sat upright, using the cupboard door to support his back.
“Do you have children—I mean, you claimed you could work around the noise, so I naturally assumed that you...”
“I’ve never been married, Diana,” he said, his eyes serious.
“Oh.” He had the uncanny ability to make her feel like a fool. “I just wondered, you know.” Her hands slipped down the front of her Levi’s in a nervous reaction.
“I was wondering, too,” he admitted.
“What?”
“How long has your husband been gone?”
“Stan died in a small plane crash three years ago. Both my husband and his best friend were killed.”
Three years. He was surprised. He would have thought a woman as attractive as Diana would have been snatched up long before now. She was the marrying kind and... ultimately out of his league.
“I shouldn’t have pried.” He saw the weary pain in her eyes and regretted his inquisitiveness.
“I’m doing okay. The girls and I have adjusted as well as can be expected. I’ll admit it hasn’t been easy, but we’re getting along.”
The phone rang, and before Diana could even think to move, Joan came roaring down the stairs. “I’ll get it.”
Diana rolled her eyes and smiled. “That’s one nice thing about her growing up. I never need to answer the phone again.”
“It’s Mr. Holiday.” Joan’s disappointment sounded from the hallway. “He wants to speak to his friend.”
“That must be you.” The moment the words were out, Diana wanted to cringe. She was making such an idiot of herself!
Cliff rolled to his feet and reached for the wall phone.
Because she didn’t want to seem as though she were eavesdropping, Diana moved into the living room and straightened the decorator pillows on the end of the sofa, positioning them just so. They were needlepoint designs her mother had given her last Christmas.
Five minutes later, hoping she wasn’t being too conspicuous, she returned to the kitchen. Cliff was under the sink, humming as he worked. The garbage disposal came off without a hitch, and he set it aside. Next he added a new piece of pipe.
“There wasn’t anything in the video about replacing pipe—at least in the one I viewed, anyway,” she explained self-consciously.
“I’m happy to do it for you, Diana,” he said, tightening the new pipe with the wrench. “There.” He stood and faced the sink. “Are you ready for the big test?”
