This is your chance to find the right one for that “honey do” list!

      Could you use a weekend warrior? Ex-U.S. Army Ranger Riley Dixon is the guy for you. He’s donating a survival weekend guaranteed to get your heart rate up.

      What about that home repair you’ve been putting off?

      Dashing Des O’Donnell, former Charity City High football hero, now owner and president of his own construction company, is offering a repair of your choice.

      Personal security issues? Defend your honor?

      Savvy Sam Brimstone, recently of the LAPD and a hotshot detective, is your man.

      These are just a sampling of the jaw-dropping guys available to the highest bidder. Ladies, don’t miss the chance to buy a guy—no strings attached.

      Cash, Check, Credit and Debit cards gratefully accepted by the Charity City Philanthropic Foundation.

      Contents

      Chapter One

      Chapter Two

      Chapter Three

      Chapter Four

      Chapter Five

      Chapter Six

      Chapter Seven

      Chapter Eight

      Chapter Nine

      Chapter Ten

      Chapter Eleven

      Chapter Twelve

      Epilogue

      Chapter One

      Charity City, Texas

       Mid September, two weeks before the bi-annual town auction

      Desmond O’Donnell was back. Like the Terminator. Or a bad penny. Or both.

      Molly Preston watched him walk past her classroom window, wishing he looked like a troll. But, where Des O’Donnell was concerned, her luck had never been that good. Now was no exception. All she could see was his profile and that was still to die for.

      She was dabbing green paint on construction paper with one of her kids, when he entered her classroom and began looking around. She took a good look, too. The rumor mill had been working overtime since Des had returned to Charity City, and reports of his hunk quotient bordered on the stuff of urban legend. The reports were annoyingly accurate.

      Ever since she learned the Charity City Foundation had awarded First Step Preschool the money for a new wing of classrooms and Des had won the contract to build it, she’d known their paths would cross. Again. But he’d picked a bad time to drop in. Not that any time would have been especially good, but it was craft time for her pre-K kids and when paint was involved, it was always uncharted territory. On top of that, a handsome stranger’s appearance was like a shot of adrenaline to her four-year-old charges.

      They weren’t the only ones. Her twenty-five-year-old hormones whipped her heart into a serious palpitation. And her hands were sweating. She was no good around men—never had been, never would be—especially not around one who looked like he should be on the cover of Carpentry Quarterly.

      Still, she’d been preparing herself to deal with him. But this time she wasn’t an overweight, orthodontically challenged, four-eyed high-school girl, easily dazzled by the PHAT—pretty hot and tempting—captain of the football team.

      This time, she was a woman, and a professional. More classrooms meant more kids getting a head start on learning—a start that would make them kind, caring and productive members of society.

      Seeing Des again was no big deal. Probably he was no longer a jerk. Probably there was a Mrs. Des at home. Besides, Molly was so over him. She was prepared to be polite and helpful because there was no longer any reason to hate his guts.

      Brave self-talk, but as she walked over to the man from her past who was standing just inside the classroom door, her tongue felt suddenly three sizes too big for her mouth.

      “Hello,” she managed to say.

      “Hi. I’m Des O’Donnell from O’Donnell Construction.”

      That sounded an awful lot like an introduction. Their previous acquaintance, such as it was, would suggest dispensing with introductions. She blinked, then stared at him, waiting for some hint of recognition on his part. She saw none.

      When she didn’t say anything, he continued. “I’ll be building the new wing for the preschool and I’m here to look over the construction site.”

      “I see.”

      “This classroom will be affected. In the office I was told that this is Polly Preston’s room. That would probably make you Miss Preston. May I call you Polly?”

      “Sure.” Her stomach knotted but her inner smart aleck picked up the slack. “But I can’t promise to answer.”

      “Oh?”

      “My name is Molly. Molly Preston.”

      “Sorry. My mistake.”

      He didn’t look sorry, Molly thought, then reminded herself she didn’t need to be snarky because she didn’t care. “No problem.”

      He grinned his charming grin and that was a problem. “Nice to meet you, Molly.”

      Clearly he didn’t remember her or her name. She wasn’t sure whether or not that was more humiliating than him taking a payoff to date her. After a socially dismal beginning to her freshman year, her father had paid Des to date her and ensure her high-school popularity. Des should have gone into acting. He’d pulled it off without her suspecting a thing. She’d never have known his interest in her was a sham if a disgruntled girlfriend hadn’t ratted him out.

      Des had used her as a stepping stone to success. He’d got what