Candy Garland stood on the bustling street corner outside the lawyer’s Bel Air, California, office, readjusting her floppy denim hat with three big daisies on the front of the turned up brim. Summer was still a couple of months away, yet she was sweating like a sumo wrestler in a sauna. She’d never been to a will reading before and was nervous as hell.

Mason Stoneworth had been the wealthiest man in the state of California, owning the biggest cable TV company around. He had also been the loneliest. In fact, she had been his only friend for the past five years.

Tugging on the hem of her flower print spandex dress, she inhaled a fortifying breath to steady her nerves, placed an unsteady palm on the sun heated doorknob, twisted it and walked inside. The muted sounds of conversation she had heard just seconds ago halted as everyone in the room swiveled their heads in her direction.

Two older women sat in chrome and leather chairs to her left, both dressed in black shapeless dresses. Candy recognized them from the funeral as Mason’s daughters. A young man sat to the right, giving her an intense twice over. This was his outofwork, twentyfiveyearold grandson. Candy thought he would have stopped drooling by this age, but there it was, running down one corner of his mouth like a baby cutting teeth. She shivered inwardly at the sight.

A composed man sat behind a highly polished oak desk, wearing a navy suit that probably cost a fortune. This must be Mason’s lawyer. Somehow she expected him to be nearly as ancient as Mason himself. On the contrary, she doubted the man gazing steadily at her was a day over forty. He had deep gray eyes and dark brown hair with amber highlights that were picked up by the harsh fluorescent light overhead. His jaw was square and strong; the kind that said he could be a stubborn ass or a loyal friend.

Candy then realized they were all still staring at her. Or, more precisely, her attire. She felt a hot blush jump to her cheeks and held her plum colored envelope purse in front of her as if it would conceal her obviously inappropriate apparel.

“Looks like I’m underdressed.” She glanced at her vibrant dress and red pumps then back at the four pairs of eyes, a rueful smile twisting her lips. “I didn’t know it was formal.”

Mason’s daughters sniffed, looking away in distaste. The younger man continued to stare at her. The lawyer--Brandon Right was printed in gold leaf on the nameplate at the front of his desk--averted his gaze, cleared his throat, and fiddled with a stack of papers at his elbow.

If she hadn’t closed the door behind her she would have slinked back out and died on the other side of it right on the sidewalk. She was never one for knowing what to wear for which occasion. The leftover Kung Pao chicken she’d had for breakfast started pecking away at her insides.

Brandon Right rose to his feet in gentlemanly fashion, gesturing to an empty chair at the side of his desk with an upturned palm. “You look fine,” he said, his voice projecting the same level of reserve his eyes held. The two women mumbled derogatory remarks under their breath in unison. Mr. Right ignored them. Candy wanted to smack them. “Please, have a seat.”

Whispering her thanks, Candy scooted past the three observers and took the chair to the right of the desk. When she sat down she felt somewhat better at not being on display. A look at the man behind the desk, however, showed he was eyeing her hat and sunglasses.

Faster than lightning she reached up, plucked the hat off her head, glasses off her nose, and rested them on her lap along with her purse. Mr. Right’s eyes widened and she figured he was simply horrified at the way she projected herself. Either that or her hair was in its usual state of total chaos. This was not a good time to be fiddling with it, so she figured it would just have to stay in wild disorder.

Candy swallowed hard, eager for this to be over with.

*

Brandon tried tearing his gaze from the electrifying woman at his side, but found it impossible. Never had he seen a person who radiated so much ... life. Her perfume entered his office three feet before she did and her attire was just as energetic as the aura she projected. Not that he believed in or knew anything about auras. The body clothed beneath the second skin dress was petite and gently curved. The eyes that had been hiding behind a cheap pair of dark glasses turned out to be a shocking deep violet color. Had to be contacts, he mused, knowing such a natural eye color couldn’t possibly exist. They contrasted perfectly against her caramel colored skin. His mind wandered over various ethnic combinations that would create such striking features.

And that hair! There must be five pounds of black spiral curls falling down to her shoulders. Brandon no longer wondered why Stoneworth had found her to be such good company.

In fact, she had probably kept him going a lot longer than the doctors and their various prescriptions had. Lord, just looking at her had his own heart beating double-time and his flaccid dick springing to life. Imagine what she could have done for an eightytwoyearold man! Although he knew their relationship had been purely platonic, that was the last thing going through his mind at the moment.

Heat swam to Brandon’s face as he realized the direction of his absurd and totally out of line thoughts. He also became acutely aware of the fact that he was staring at her--and everyone else in the room was staring at him.

He tamped down his libidinous musings, angry with himself for allowing such a frivolous emotion as desire for a stranger to surface.

Reshuffling the papers on his desk, he gave a cough to clear his constricted throat and began. “Now that we’re all here,” he looked at each person in turn, giving a slight nod of his head, “Ms. Sawyer, Mrs. Pembrose, Mr. Pembrose, Miss Garland, we can read the will.”

A hush fell over the small room as he extracted a pair of wire framed reading glasses from the pocket of his crisp white dress shirt and slipped them on. “I, Mason Stoneworth, being of sound mind and body, do hereby bequeath my Beverly Hills estate and the sum total of my net worth to...”

Everybody sat up at attention. The crying jag Mrs. Pembrose had been so convincingly sharing with everyone in the room suddenly ceased. Miss Garland looked perplexed, her feathery black brows bent in a small frown. “To Miss Candy Garland for being the only person who was there for me in my final years.”

Three gasps in quick concession came from Stoneworth’s family members. Miss Garland blinked repeatedly as if trying to rouse herself from the sticky remnants of a dream. She looked more bewildered than actually ecstatic about the prospect of receiving such a huge fortune.

Brandon prided himself on the accuracy of his gut instinct. It came with the territory of being a lawyer. Like a sixth sense, he could sum people up in less than thirty seconds. Though Miss Garland was boisterous in her attire, he seriously doubted she was the gold digger Stoneworth’s family members had accused her of being.

“But--why me?” Miss Garland was the first to speak, wide eyed, a slim hand held over her chest.

“Yes!” Ms. Sawyer exclaimed. “Why her? She’s not even blood related.” She bunched her hands into fists as she sat perched on the edge of her chair, looking ready to pummel the woman who stood in the way of receiving her share of her father’s fortune.

“Mr. Stoneworth stated that she was a friendly, dependable companion in his time of need.” Brandon used his most professional tone, though he felt like tossing the two women and the panting young man out on their asses. He, too, had been close to Stoneworth and was well aware of everything his family had done. Or, more precisely, what they hadn’t done.

“I’ll just bet,” Ms. Sawyer shot back. “How did he die, Miss Garland?” She leaned forward, an acrid smile on her collagen-injected lips as she glared at the other woman. “Perhaps you were too friendly for such an old man. If you know what I mean.”

“I object!” Miss Garland sprang to her feet, knocking her hat, sun glasses and purse to the floor.

“Miss Garland, this isn’t a courtroom, and I’m not a judge.” Brandon picked up the items and placed them on her lap when she sat back down, taking an appreciative glance of her bare legs as he did so. He quickly tore his gaze away, eyeing the other woman who’d made the comment. “Please keep your remarks to yourself.”

The woman sniffed, hiking her chin up.

“Regardless of anyone’s feelings or opinions, Miss Garland is the sole recipient of Mr. Stoneworth’s estate.” He removed his glasses, set them on the blotter before him then held up a forefinger. “With one stipulation.”

The room became silent. Nobody breathed as he leaned back in his leather chair, hands laced lightly over his chest as he spoke once more. “Miss Garland.” He looked at her. “It seems that Mason Stoneworth cared a great deal about you and was quite concerned for your future. So much so in fact, that in order for you to receive his Beverly Hills home and very generous bank account, you must find a husband within three weeks of the reading of the will or all assets are to be divided equally between his relatives.”

All heads turned back to Candy who was in the midst of plucking the silk daisies from her hat. “A ... husband?” she squeaked.

Once Stoneworth’s relatives realized they were left a sum total of zero for the time being, they got up to leave, David Pembrose tagging along after his mother like a docile hound dog. Mrs. Pembrose stuck her purse under her arm and gave a mighty “Harumph!”

Ms. Sawyer looked over her shoulder as she preceded the others through the door leading directly to the street outside. “The money’s as good as ours.” The door closed firmly behind them.

Miss Garland remained slumped in the chair, her eyes sober on him. “I’ve been looking for a husband since I was eighteen. How am I supposed to find one in three weeks?” Exasperation was in her words and on her lightly made-up face.

“That’s where I come in.” Brandon stood and walked around, leaning against the side of the desk to face her, feet crossed at the ankles, arms folded over his chest. “The will also specifies that I am to be your mentor of sorts. To guide you, offer advice, and to help you find an appropriate husband.”

“Are lawyers supposed to do that?”

“No, but I assure you I’ll be compensated quite generously for my services.” Brandon moved back around to sit behind the desk. Miss Garland’s presence was having a strange, inebriating effect on him. Perhaps it was the exotic perfume she wore just a tad too much of. The jasmine scent went straight to his brain and right into his briefs. He was also floored because she didn’t fit his preconceived notions of what he thought she looked like.

In Stoneworth’s own words she was a dear, sweet girl who hadn’t found a husband in all of her thirty-two years. Brandon had expected her to be a frumpy old maid who worked in a library. In his wildest dreams he never could have imagined ... her.

“Oh.” She was silent for moment then said, “Aren’t mentors supposed to be old and have white hair?”

Brandon tried to keep his gaze trained on her face and from wandering again to her smooth, bare thighs. He wasn’t very successful at it. “Would you accept middle-aged and fifty-two white hairs?” He gave a slight smile.

*

Candy laughed, relaxing a little bit. At least she didn’t feel like throwing up anymore. “You counted?”

His smile turned rueful. “Afraid so.”

“So where do we go from here?” She felt despondent again. Wanted to tell him how stupid this whole situation was, but just the thought of those three leeches who had spurned the old man, made her want to fight for his memory, his belongings, and his money.

“Well, before the stroke of midnight tonight we are to move into his Beverly Hills estate for the next three weeks. If all goes well, it will be yours.”

“Why are we supposed to move in there? Not that it isn’t luxurious and a far cry from what I’m used to, but ... why?” All three daisies were now gone from her hat and sitting on the burgundy carpet.

“Good question. Stoneworth seemed to think that by living under the same roof it would give us more time to concentrate on your husband-finding efforts. The allotted time is only twenty-one days, after all.” He flicked the calendar on his desk.

“What if I don’t want to find a husband?” she found herself saying, suddenly terrified at the prospect. “In such a short amount of time I’ll probably end up with a biker named Bruno who has no front teeth and a naked lady tattooed on his butt.”

Brandon chuckled. “I assure you, Miss Garland, we’ll do all we can to find a man who suits you. If you despise him that badly, you can always get a divorce. The main goal here is to get you married in order to satisfy the legalities of the will.”

Candy was happy she had Brandon Right on her team. Maybe two heads would work better than one. He certainly looked like the kind of man who could give her some lessons in attracting a potential husband. He was stiff, subdued, and probably organized his sock drawers just for the fun of it. She was the exact opposite; outgoing, outspoken, disorganized--and she hadn’t found a husband in fourteen years of searching high and low. Yes, she had probably been going about this thing all wrong. “When do we move in?”

“I’ve already taken my things over there as of this morning.”

Candy gripped the arms of the chair. “What if I hadn’t agreed with Mason’s terms?” She wondered whether the frantic emotions running through her right now were anger at being taken for granted, as if this man knew all along she was desperate for a husband or Stoneworth’s money, or absolute fear of not being able to fulfill the terms of the will in the short amount of time given. “What if I simply relinquished my rights to the money and house and let those three vultures fight over it?”

Brandon smiled, pointing at her with the end of his gold pen. “For the very reason you just indicated.” When she frowned, he elaborated, leaning back, clicking his pen in an even rhythm. “They are indeed vultures and I’m aware of the kind heart you possess. Not many people would sit at a dying man’s bedside and read to him from his favorite novels just so he wouldn’t have to spend every minute of every day alone.” He stopped the insistent clicking and tossed the pen down, then leaned forward, palms flat on his desk. “They wouldn’t be happy until they’d gone through everything like scavenging hyenas, fighting over the last roll of toilet tissue.”

Candy couldn’t help it, his last comment made her giggle, maybe for the fact that this whole afternoon had turned out to be the most wild and crazy day of her entire life. Here she thought she’d be walking out of here with the crystal vase she had filled with flowers for Mason every day. Now she found herself in need of a husband so she could keep millions of dollars out of the hands of his greedy family.

Mr. Right rose to his feet once again. “As of this moment I’m officially on vacation from my practice. I’ve cleared my calendar for the next three weeks and am now in the role as your mentor.” He bowed gracefully making Candy laugh once again. Her grip on the chair arms lessened in severity.

“Why don’t we stop and have a bite to eat?” he suggested. “Afterward we can go by your place to pick up whatever you may need for the next few weeks.”

Candy got to her feet also, noticing how incredibly tall this man was. Of course, most people did tend to loom over her fivefeettwoinch frame. Still, Brandon Right must have a good twelve inches over her. She looked up into that attractive face of his. Aside from the lines slicing down each side of his mouth, not a wrinkle marred his smooth forehead or corners of his eyes. Obviously, frowns rarely touched that face. Nor smiles, the sad thought hit her.

Shoving away the speculation, she asked in regards to his previous statement, “We’re moving in just like that?”

He nodded; turning away from her then placed some papers into a brown leather briefcase he’d pulled from the bottom drawer of his desk. “Just like that.”

“What about my job? What about my utilities and rent?” She felt dizzy.

“You’ll still keep your job, but will be on a lengthy vacation,” he informed, looking at her once again. When she started to protest, he said, “Everything’s been taken care of. Your job will be there when you get back. Three weeks is a short amount of time to find a husband and working eight hours a day would clearly cut into it.” He then calmed her other worry. “Come morning I’ll take care of your utilities and rent for the next month. The only thing you need to think about is eating, sleeping, and trying to find a husband--with my help, of course.” He took up his briefcase and walked over to the wall across from them, shutting off the lights.

Candy didn’t know what to say. She’d been on her own since she was sixteen and her mom married husband number four. She’d had enough of lousy stepfathers, so moved out. Her tiny apartment in North Hollywood had been her home for the past three years. Now she would be living in a fifteen-room mansion that sported a tennis court, Olympic sized pool, a backyard that looked more like a forest, and every amenity one could ask for? And she would be sharing that rambling home with an extremely sexy man? She glanced at his left hand and didn’t see a ring. Correction, make that an extremely sexy and single man.

“Ready?” Brandon prompted when she didn’t move from beside his desk. Late afternoon shone through the half open blinds, casting slices of shadow and sunlight over the entire room. “You look a bit overwhelmed.”

“That obvious?” She smiled weakly.

*

Brandon moved to the center of the room. “Just a bit.” He winked. Everything had been dropped in her lap only half an hour ago. He, on the other hand, had quite some time to mull over the situation they were now in since he was the one to help Stoneworth prepare the will.

At the time he thought the old man had been senile when he’d mentioned his plan to him. Now that he’d had a look at Miss Garland, it was quite clear she needed a husband. He didn’t think for one moment she was inept, but it was for the very reason that she was so incredibly small, giving him the impression she needed to be taken care of. Her loud clothing was simply her style, a part of her, as were those incredible violet eyes he deemed were the real thing and not contacts. She may dress on the scandalous side, but Candy Garland was the genuine article, an endangered species among the human race. A free spirit who needed protection against the darker side of life.

He laughed silently at his foolish deductions. He’d known the woman for all of thirty minutes and now felt he could vouch for her character and state of well being? Ridiculous.

Still, he couldn’t let a tender morsel like her be gobbled up by every smooth talking gigolo who mistook her outgoing personality for loose morals. The woman was no tramp, of that he was certain. Stoneworth had spoken highly of her. In fact, he himself had expected her to still be a virgin. He doubted that now. Any woman who glowed with so much inner life had to be a woman of much passion.

Inwardly Brandon groaned at the thought, yearning for the armor of immunity against the opposite sex he had worn for so many years. Unfortunately, he couldn’t dredge up any feelings of indifference toward this woman and soon gave up trying altogether. It wasn’t her fault she was so damned sexy and he was so damned hard-up.

Finally Ms. Garland turned to him, a brave smile pasted on her face. “I’m as ready as I’ll ever be.” She dropped her floppy hat--minus the daisies--onto her head, tucking her sunglasses into a thin envelope purse. She slid the gold chain strap over one bare shoulder, walking over to him. “I want to thank you for your help,” she said softly.

“For what? I haven’t done anything yet.”

She shrugged, exiting through the door he opened. “I’m thanking you in advance.”