Amanda Scott sprinted right behind her new neighbor, calling for the kids, dogs and cats as loudly as he did. She’d had a moving company deliver the heavy boxes and furniture days before, but she hadn’t planned on seriously moving in until today. Naturally, the house had a post-cyclone decor. Packing boxes and cartons and furniture were strewn every which way, creating obstacles that impeded their progress…but that wasn’t the only reason she couldn’t catch her breath.

It was him.

She’d known the transition from city life to the suburbs would be challenging, but she wasn’t expecting this kind of challenging.

For five years, she’d lived her dream of a life-a gorgeous condo in downtown Chicago, an advertising job she thrived on and marriage to a perfect guy, Thom. Then came their precious baby. Then came the divorce.

The first thing she’d done-because it was the most critical issue-was give up sex for the rest of her life. Her inability to judge character in men was the reason, and Amanda was never one to duck from the truth. Although she’d moved to the suburbs solely for her daughter’s sake, Amanda figured it’d work like a charm on the celibacy thing. After all, what males was she likely to run into but married men, dads and guys heavily into their families?

Her new neighbor was undoubtedly one of the married herd. She couldn’t imagine any sane woman letting him run around loose and single. It was just…he was an unexpected jolt to her senses. Nothing unusual about the dark brown hair, but his chin had several days of disreputable unshaven whiskers. His brown eyes looked her over like a sip of warm Southern whiskey. The naked chest was smooth and sculpted; the jeans low-slung, his skin had a gleam of sun and sweat… The whole package wasn’t just a prize male specimen. He was a whole bucket of testosterone.

He hollered again for his son, his dog, his cat. Even his voice had that guy-tenor thing going on.

It wasn’t as if she was going to do anything about it. She’d just really hoped to have a little old lady for a neighbor. Or a family with a half dozen kids and a harried-looking father with a paunch.

Beyond the living area was the kitchen with its fresh birch cabinets and wonderful bay window-partly why she’d fallen in love with the house. Right now, boxes were stacked there every which way. The kitten was on top of one. Amanda saw her neighbor swoop up Princess-who immediately curled up on his shoulder as if she’d finally found her Prince Charming. Of course, she should be happy. He’d saved her from the tomcat prowling around the boxes for her.

“I’ll take her,” Amanda told him. He promptly handed her over in a cloud of white cat hair, and she quickly carted Princess to the nearest bathroom and closed the door.

One cat safe, now just two dogs and two kids to catch.

The dogs had quit barking-which struck Amanda as an ominous sign. The sound of crying was another bad sign-she wasn’t sure which of their kids was unhappy, but the noise came from the second floor, where there were two bedrooms and a bath.

Amanda reacted to the crying first, took the stairs three at a time, and found her sweet, delicate daughter sitting on top of the neighbor boy, pretty much pounding on him. She was half his weight, but as Amanda knew, when her darling lost her temper, she seemed to gain the strength of Goliath. She pulled Molly off the boy, scolding her for hitting.

“Never hit,” Amanda said firmly. “You know better. No one hits in our house. Ever. If you have an argument you can’t solve, you come to me. But we don’t hit. Apologize right now.”

There followed a noisy dialogue of “But he…” and “She said it first…” and “No, it was him. I couldn’t help it…” and “You were the one who was mean, mean and mean.” Et cetera.

It took a few minutes to get the tears stopped, to check both kids to make sure neither was actually hurt. The neighbor’s boy looked just like his dad-rugged, pure male, a kid-adorable version of the grown-up.

Her new neighbor showed up at the top of the stairs. “I found the dogs.”

“Where?”

“In the room I think is going to be your living room. Behind the couch. Slugger is now outside-I closed the front door, by the way, so we won’t have any immediate repeat of this. And it’s been fun, but I wouldn’t want to overstay our welcome.” He held out a hand, and his son immediately climbed up and did a stranglehold on his dad’s neck. The other arm held his tomcat. Amanda could hear the hound baying and scratching at the front door from two stories up.

“Um…” She scratched her neck. How to end this impossibly awful first encounter? “Nice to meet you?”

“Actually we haven’t met. Which is maybe a thank-God.” He was already barreling down the stairs with both arms mighty full. His son was talking nonstop. The godforsaken cat was yowling in his other ear. “If you need help moving in, give a shout.”

“Thanks,” she said. She figured, after this, she’d ask him for help the day it rained money. “Same here.”

His brows arched as if he couldn’t imagine he’d need help from her or her household…yet his grin was still evident. A cheeky grin. A grin that said, “Hell, if you’re going to have an awful day, might as well do it full bore.”

An interesting man, she thought. The whole household looked slightly on the rascally side. The cat had more scars than a derelict. The dog had that hound smell, and its ears trailed the ground. All four of them could have used a bath and some clean clothes and a hairbrush.

But he could have yelled-the way most men did in a crisis. Or lost patience. Or made a point of finding blame, making it someone’s fault-undoubtedly hers.

Instead, he’d just kind of charged in and started solving problems.

Maybe he wouldn’t be such a terrible neighbor.

“Mom!” Molly tugged at her hand. “I don’t want to see that boy again as long as I live! I hate him! And I’m thirsty! And I want to watch TV!”

Amanda almost laughed. For a few seconds there, she’d been worried about a personal connection to her neighbor. But her real life erased that worry lickety-split.

Right now she had all the chaos she could possibly handle-and then some.

Chapter Two

“I don’t get it, Dad. Why she hit me. And did you see? I didn’t hit her back.”

“Yup, I saw, Teddy. You did the right thing. It’s never okay for a boy to hit a girl. Or for someone to hit someone smaller than they are.”

“But I wanted to. I wanted to really, really bad.”

“Of course you did. She wasn’t behaving well. But you just can’t hurt another person. If you feel mad, you have to let it out other ways…like running as fast as you can for a while. Or punching a pillow. Or getting your mind off it by doing something else, something you like, like a puzzle or your trucks or something like that.”

When Teddy stepped from the bathtub onto the white-and-black-checked tile, Mike was waiting with a man-size black bath towel. Teddy might be squeaky-clean, but the bathroom now had more water than a lake. His son thought he was way big enough to take a bath alone. Maybe he was. But Mike wasn’t sure the house could survive the aftermath. Even with him right there, everything in sight and vicinity tended to get soaked.

He covered Teddy’s head, heard him giggle, swooped the damp package in his arms and carted him down the hall into the only room in the house that was decorated-seriously decorated.

The bed was shaped like a car. The wallpaper was a mass of trucks and cars and tractors. Mike had laid down thick, soft brown carpet, both to suck up extraneous noise and because four-year-olds-at least, his four-year-old-tended to accumulate bruises and bumps, so the carpet needed serious cushioning. No curtains. “We men,” as Teddy put it, “don’t need girl stuff like that.”

Half the room was toys. Because Teddy’s favorites tended to be moving vehicles, Mike had set him up with a “garage” for the diggers and tractors and haulers, and a couple of bins for the fifty million cars that reproduced every night. Mike had told him flat out that he didn’t care-at all-about being tidy. But the cars had to be put away before bed, because Teddy could be hurt if he got up in the night to pee and stumbled over them.

Teddy considered that rule to be reasonable, which was a relief. When Teddy didn’t like a rule, he could spend four hours asking “But, why?” questions to exhaust his father.

“I didn’t say good night to the worms, Dad,” Teddy suddenly worried.

“I’ll say good night for you.” Off went the towel. On went the football pj’s.

“Why didn’t she like me?”

“Who?” Silly question, Mike thought. It had to be the girl next door, from his son’s mournful tone. “Maybe she did. Sometimes girls do strange things when they like a boy.”

“I offered to show her my worms.”

“That was very kind.”

“We’re going to dig in the backyard tomorrow, right, Dad? Make a big hole?”

“That’s going to take some time to set up, sport. We’ll be headed to the hardware store for supplies first. And Grandma and Grandpa want you to come over. But believe me, you and I are going to get into all the dirt and water and messes you could possibly want.”

“I can’t wait.”

“We’ll have fun,” Mike promised him, and started the ritual tucking-in process.

“Dad?”

“What?”

“I bin thinking about why Mom doesn’t want me anymore. Maybe it’s like that girl. Even when you’re nice, some girls just don’t like boys.”

“Anyone who didn’t like you would have to be really, really lame. And your mom loves you.” Mike bent down, bussed his son’s forehead. They weren’t calling it a good-night kiss anymore. They were calling it a Night Connect.

“You’re going to leave the bathroom light on?”