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He also couldn't go through this frantic cleaning every Wednesday, in anticipation of her arrival.

As he loaded his hockey Puck Skins and other darks into the dryer, he imagined what his brother, James, would have said about all this. "Jump her, you idiot! Or at least make a move on her. Kevin has a date, not a legal claim. Since you don't want her cleaning your house anyway, what have you got to lose?"

James had been a bit of a cad with women, but always managed to find plenty who were willing to put up with his shenanigans. James said they had their eyes on the prize: marriage in a community property state.

Russ had his doubts. Despite his joking comments to Kevin about gold diggers, his impression was that women had better ways to earn money these days than marry for it. He hadn't met many who were willing to put up with an asshole for the sake of a bigger house.

No, women had put up with James because he was fun and clearly loved them. To James, all women were beautiful and witty and worthy of attention. He would have made a pass at Emma within five seconds of meeting her, and would have done so in a light, flirtatious ma

His ear caught the distant sound of a female voice, talking as if on a cell phone. She was here.

And he didn't have either James's talent for seduction or his willingness to compete with a friend for a woman's affections.

Damn.

He got the next load of laundry ru

Where was she?

He was making his second round of the house when a small sound directed his attention to his recliner in the great room. She was flopped in it, staring blankly out the window, her cell phone lying in her hand.

She looked on the verge of tears. As he watched, her mouth turned down at a painful angle, eyes squeezing shut, face reddening as tears rolled out her lids and down her cheeks. Her lips parted and a soft wheeze of pain whistled out.

Ah, hell! Now what was he supposed to do? He looked frantically around for a Kleenex or an escape route. She couldn't want him to see this. God knew he didn't want to see this.

Before he could make a move either way, her eyes opened and she saw him. He froze like an animal in a hunter's spotlight. Her eyes widened, and then the crying seemed to take on a new, more violent force.

"Great! Oh, just great!" she said, wiping her face with her bare hands as her tears and nose ran freely. "This just tops it." She dropped her hands to glare at him. "What are you doing here? Aren't you supposed to be at work?"

"I, uh… Excuse me!" He bolted for the kitchen, grabbed a clean dish towel, then jogged back to her holding it out. "Here."

She snorted noisily and reached for it. "Thanks," she mumbled, and wiped at her face. She dabbed discreetly at her nose, then looked up at him over the red and blue cloth, red-rimmed eyes tinged with accusation.

Was she expecting something more from him? What, for God's sake? He scrambled back through memory to his last serious relationship, in which he'd had to deal with frequent female tears. With great reluctance he offered, "Do you, er… need a hug?"

She dropped the cloth from her face and scowled. "No!" Then her lips started to quiver, the sides dipping downward again.

Oh God.

He gritted his teeth and inched toward her, arms open, hoping she wouldn't hurt him. Emotional women were like grumpy bears, in his experience. They were ready to disembowel you at the first wrong move.

She jumped up out of the chair and batted his arm away. "I said I don't need a hug! I'm just having a very bad day."