Then Carlie broke the contact, pulling away from his hands.
“You knew you were about to lose, right? That’s why you belted me?” Her voice shook, and she tried another grin, but it was a weak attempt. Tyler wondered how badly she was hurt.
He was too busy trying to analyze the situation to answer right away. Carlie stuck her glasses firmly back on her nose, then called, “Yoo-hoo? Anybody home? Tyler?”
Finally, he shook his head, chasing away the errant confusion. “Sorry. Here, let me help you up.”
“I’m fine, Tyler. I don’t need any help.” He helped, anyway, giving Carlie no choice in the matter.
He turned her, holding her chin in his palm. “Let me look at you. I think you have a lump coming up already.”
She jerked away. “I told you, I’m fine. Quit fussing.”
Tyler propped his hands on his hips, worried and filled with guilt. “I’ll concede the game. Dinner is on me.”
Carlie looked down at herself, then shook her head. “Dressed like this? I don’t think so, but thanks, anyway.”
Her refusal didn’t surprise him, but it did annoy him. “You have to eat. It’s been a long day.”
“I have stew in the Crock-Pot at home. You’re free and clear.”
He picked up his shirt, drying the sweat from his chest and arms with it. He didn’t particularly want to be free. “Stew sounds good. We bachelors don’t get a home-cooked meal all that often.”
Carlie raised her eyes to his, a look of disbelief mirroring her thoughts.
As hints went, his was blatantly clear and he held his breath while waiting to see what she would say.
“You are wrangling me for an invite?”
He shrugged, but the movement felt stiff. “I figure anyone who can play basketball as good as you, must surely be able to cook, too.”
“Your logic escapes me, and besides, I don’t think I made enough.”
It was almost as if she was challenging him. He wanted to spend more time with her, but she was determined to put him off. He didn’t like it, not one little bit. They would spend the evening together, despite the woman’s ridiculous reservations. “I’ll stop at the bakery and pick up some sourdough bread to go with it.”
Carlie narrowed her eyes at his persistence. “Don’t you have some female somewhere waiting for you to call and check in?”
“Nope. And I’m hopelessly lonely. Be kind, Carlie. Take me home.”
“Like a stray dog? If I feed you once, will I have trouble getting rid of you?”
He managed to look hurt. Shrugging his bare shoulders, he said, “Never mind. I didn’t mean to intrude. I just thought since we were both going home alone, we could share a meal. I had fun today. I don’t get to goof off all that often anymore, regardless of what you think.”
Carlie froze. He knew she wouldn’t be able to handle hurting his feelings. Carlie was, despite her efforts to prove otherwise, a real softie. He watched her out of the corner of his eye and knew the moment she relented.
“I had fun, too, Tyler. And I suppose it would be nice to have someone to chat with over dinner.”
Tyler raised his head, all remnants of self-pity disappearing. “Terrific! I knew you could be reasonable.”
“Why, you big fraud!”
He simply laughed, not the least bit concerned with his deception. “Go get your things. I’ll follow you to your house.”
He watched Carlie stomp away. He could see her silently fuming. Damn, but he enjoyed her company. She was prickly, independent, determined to do things her way. She didn’t pout, didn’t treat him to the silent bit. No, when Carlie had something to say—and she usually did—she said it. She was so unpredictable, so unexpected, she chased boredom right out the door.
TYLER DROVE BEHIND Carlie, noting the slow, careful way she maneuvered her car. He was on the verge of laughing out loud. He shook his head, bemused. He couldn’t recall ever having such verbal skirmishes with a woman. Women didn’t react to him that way. But damned if he didn’t like it. It was fun.
For that matter, Carlie was fun.
And he’d never thought of a woman that way before. She appeared totally immune to his flirting, but it wasn’t because she was shy or withdrawn.
On the contrary. She was one of the most outspoken women he’d ever met. And intelligent. He enjoyed her company.
It was like having a pal, someone he could exchange mild insults with and still smile. But it was so utterly different with her being female. It was as if a whole new facet had been added to the relationship. It went a long way toward relieving his distraction over the mysterious—and missing—masked lady. And that in itself was a major feat.
Carlie pulled into her driveway and parked beneath a carport. Tyler pulled up to the curb out front, then he stared. He wasn’t sure what he’d expected, probably a mud-colored house with a barren expanse of lawn and not a single speck of color. She took him by surprise. Again.
Her house was a small Cape Cod cottage nestled at the end of a narrow side street. A farmer’s fields were on the right side of the house, a heavily wooded area to the left. Behind and in front of the white-and-yellow wooden structure was a well-tended lawn. Daisies were blooming everywhere, and her mailbox was designed to look like a small, colorful barn.
Tyler looked around, captivated. There was a tire swing hanging from the gnarled branch of an ancient oak off the back corner of the house. A curving porch circling to the right of the front door had a rattan porch swing attached to the overhang.
“A real swinger, aren’t you?”
Carlie shrugged as she dug her key from her purse. “I’m not an idle person. I don’t like to be still, even when I’m relaxing.”
Tyler tried to imagine the classic picture of a woman superimposed with Carlie in a flowery dress, her hair loose, swaying in the breeze and humming softly while her bare feet maintained the gentle motion of the swing.
He wasn’t quite that imaginative.
The inside of her house was also a contrast, so different from the woman he was getting to know. There was little furniture, only the basic necessities. It was an eclectic mix of modern and antique, light oak and glass, chintz material and delicate doilies. There were no photographs, but there were framed prints of the most outrageous things. Each room appeared to have a theme.
The living room was spring, with a large, brass-framed picture of a bee, busily collecting pollen from a daisy. Porcelain flowers decorated each tabletop and filled one curio cabinet.
The dining room, which was minuscule, was decorated with birds. A border of them circled the room, a dainty, delicate figure sat looking over every corner, and in each plant, one peeked from between the leaves.
The kitchen was whales.
He raised his eyebrows at her in question. “How did you choose whales, may I ask?”
Carlie had been busily putting their jackets on the coat tree and checking the stew. She looked at him over her shoulder as she lifted the Crock-Pot lid. “One of the children at school gave me one, once. I said I liked it, and...” She smiled.
“They all decided to give you one?”
“Each class seems to take it into their head that