He hadn’t been in my room while I was gone.

Odd. Miles would never had even entered my room. That much I was certain about. Then what the heck had happened? Surely I wasn’t imagining all that? I walked to the closet, opened the door and puffed out a breath.

Pine-scented Renuzit.

Stella Sokol had invaded my space!

I just knew Mother had been there and was trying to “help” me out in some Polish matronly farfetched way. Before I could call her to yell she had no business being in there (not that I would since she was wounded), I started to yank open all my dresser drawers.

Organized to within a thread of color.

All my socks. All my nighties. All my…shit!

As if in slow motion I reached into my “essentials” drawer and touched what I knew were not mine-which was everything.

Thongs.

Black on black lacy ones. Red with pink dog ones. And some kind of blue fishnet with black lace trim.

Invader of Victoria’s Secret. Stella Sokol. Yikes.

My hands started to shake as I jabbed at the new bras Mother had purchased for her thirtysomething, single, childless daughter. Purple satin glared at me. I poked at the fabric to feel something soft inside. Gel. My mother had gotten me a gel cleavage-enhancing bra with naughty black trim, and next to it were matching panties-or what tried to be panties but ended up as some kind of V-string thingies.

I lifted them in the air and blew out a breath.

“That’d be my reaction too.”

I swung around to see Jagger standing in the doorway, grinning and staring. I threw the lingerie down into the drawer where it belonged.

Jagger had no idea that this was all my mother’s doing! What the hell did he think I was doing with the purple satin devil’s design underwear?

Stella Sokol never ceased to amaze or embarrass me-even if she wasn’t physically present.

Jagger whistled-and not even under his breath.

“These aren’t mine. They, well, yes they are in my drawer…but still that doesn’t mean. I don’t wear…nor would I be caught. Look, I know how they got here. My-” What the hell was I explaining any of this to Jagger for? Or make that trying to explain to him. I didn’t owe him any explanations for anything-even sexy lingerie.

Besides, he’d never believe that Stella Sokol sabotaged her single-make that never married-childless daughter like that.

I could hardly believe it.

With my hip, I shoved the drawer closed and walked to the door, being very careful not to even brush against any part of Jagger while I headed past him. Over my shoulder I said, “I have to go make dinner for my family.”

My legs barely got me down the stairs as my knees kept trying to buckle under the embarrassing scene I’d just lived through. But I knew if I even acknowledged it to Jagger, I’d be a goner.

He followed me downstairs, gave a quick hug to Spanky, and we were out the door in silence-thank the good Lord-and soon on the way to 171 David Drive.

And I thought the lingerie thing was a nightmare.

“I salted the pork just like you said, Mother,” I repeated as I rolled my eyes. If she told me one more thing about how to cook a meal, I might not be responsible for my actions.

She leaned over the aquamarine Formica counter. “More pepper.”

My teeth clamped down inside my lips so nothing could come out. I grabbed the pepper shaker and shook until the damn pork was speckled in so much black and gray that it was unrecognizable.

Jagger had the audacity to sit next to my mother, take a sip of his Budweiser and grin.

I shook the pepper shaker in the air above the pan and blew a bit in his direction.

Once he started sneezing, I felt much better.

Finally my mother gave me the okay to set the table while potatoes boiled, pork roasted, and corn sat at the ready to be heated. How I wanted to corner her and get the naughty lingerie truth out of her, but she made herself look so pathetic sitting on the counter stools next to Jagger, sipping her cream sherry while he helped her get comfortable with the pink cast.

Geez.

I shook my head and politely excused myself before I exploded. When I went into the living room to find my purse, I smiled at a sleeping Uncle Walt on the couch and my father reading the newspaper (for the past three hours I might add) as if the most exciting things had happened around Hope Valley that day.

“Hey, Daddy.” I reached into my bag and got out my cell phone. From the corner of my eye I could see Jagger laughing with Stella Sokol and decided I had to do something.

Daddy muttered a few unintelligible words.

Uncle Walt snored, and I hurried down the hallway, opening the bathroom door and ducking inside. There on the back of the commode was what I needed.

Mother’s pine-scented Renuzit.

I sprayed a few puffs into the air and sat on the edge of the bathtub with phone in hand. Suddenly I felt a bit more relaxed, as if my Prozac had kicked in although I didn’t take Prozac or any other medication. As usual, the nostalgic pine scent did the trick.

When I searched through my cell phone book, I found Scarpello and Tonelli Insurance Company and poked the button.

“Ello?”

Adele Girard, French Canadian and like a second mother to me although in a very different sort of way, still had a slight accent even though she’d lived in the States for some time. Actually this is where she’d spent years in prison-which was another story and one that always made me root for her even though she had broken the law to pay for her mother’s chemotherapy. Tough call, but a broken law was a broken law.

“Hey, Adele. It’s me. Pauline.”

“Oh, chéri, we miss you. How is it going in Newport?”

“Actually that’s why I called you. I need your help.” After I filled in Adele about Olivia Wheaton-Chandler and asked her to run any kind of check on the woman that she could find, I at least felt as if I was doing my job. Being the doll that she was, Adele assured me she would get right on it and not tell Fabio that I was back in town. She was excellent in her job, with contacts reaching far and wide. I could always rely on Adele.

I’m sure that wouldn’t sit well with Fabio since private investigators didn’t get weekends off.

After letting the pine scent waft around me, I gathered up what mental faculties I had left and went out into the kitchen.

Mother was instructing Jagger on how to set the table!

I stood in the doorway and watched, barely believing my eyes as he took each order in stride and did as told to perfection.

Why was it that Stella Sokol could get so much out of him while I couldn’t even find out if he had a last name or a first name? Well, I had to admit, now I was more determined to find out a lot more about one Jagger. A.k.a. Jagger.

“Don’t just stand there, Pauline. Start the gravy,” Mother said.

I looked at the pink cast and cursed in my head.

Jagger grinned at me. Yes, the man could read my mind. That fact, sad but true, was proven over and over with him.

“Sure, Mom.” I turned to hurry into the kitchen. Maybe I could get the gravy done before they came in.

The door swung open just as I was bending down to look in the cabinet below the counter. “Where is the gravy, Mom?”

I heard a throat clear and swung up just in time to smack my head on the counter. “Ouch!”

Jagger Whoever stood there, grinning yet again.

“Didn’t your mother ever tell you if you make a face like that it will freeze?” I asked, rubbing my head to feel for a bump or fresh blood.

“Excuse me?” He walked closer until we were eye-to-eye.

Yikes.

“Never mind,” I said and started to bend down again, all the while rubbing the top of my head.

Jagger took my arm and pulled me back up. Then he touched the top of my head and said, “Sorry about that.”