One Night with a Quarterback by Jeanette Murray

damp temples.
Welcome to the new world, Wainright.
    â€œCassandra!”
    She flinched at the name since she’d never been a big fan. But it was more the tone than the name itself. High pitched, a little too cheerful. Turning, she spotted a woman in camel-colored pants, matching heels and a lightweight powder-blue shirt walking unhurriedly around the edge of the pool. Her hand extended up in welcome, a little feminine wave that would have made Miss America proud.
    The stepmother.
    No, Tabitha. The woman had a name, so she needed to use it. There was no reason to be on the defense. Nothing indicated this woman was an enemy. They were all testing out the waters here.
    Cassie raised her own hand in acknowledgement, then popped the trunk of her SUV and hauled the first of her two suitcases down to the brick walkway.
    â€œOh, no, no, no.” Tabitha scooted—not a run, not a jog . . . a scoot—over and placed a hand over hers on the suitcase handle. “We’ve got someone who can do this for you.”
    â€œI don’t mind. It’s just a few suitcases, nothing major. Clothes and junk.” She stepped back and got her first up-close look at the woman her father had married.
    Her light hair twisted back perfectly. No leftover strands stuck to the side of a sweaty neck, like her own mess of hair. Her makeup was minimal, if she wore any at all. She looked fresh, put together, and ready to run a country if necessary.
    Cassie’s practical choice of older jeans and a T-shirt with one sleeve hem unraveling suddenly seemed like a very stupid decision.
    Tabitha huffed a little, but stepped back gracefully and smiled. “So you’re Cassie. Your father said you were lovely, and he was right. I’m Tabitha.” She held out a hand, which Cassie shook, praying her own hand wasn’t slippery with sweat. “I’m here to help you settle into the pool house.”
    â€œThanks.” She stood there a moment longer while the older woman observed her quietly. “The, uh, door’s locked. I tried it already.”
    â€œOh, of course.” She slid around Cassie and her suitcase and pulled out a pair of keys on a fake climbing ring and unlocked the front door. “I had a set made for you. The second key is for the small storage shed behind the house, in case you had anything else that wouldn’t fit. It’s got some pool toys, but not much. Our girls are too old to play with that sort of thing anymore.”
    â€œUh-huh.” Cassie wheeled her suitcase behind and followed Tabitha into the cottage house. Everything was polished, from the small kitchenette shining with stainless-steel appliances to the full- length windows overlooking the back woods.
    â€œTwo bedrooms, though the second is really miniscule. Better for an office. Ken, I mean, your father”—she said again, stumbling only a little over the term—“said you would be working.
Telecommuting
, I believe he said.”
    The word was said with the underline tone of
Why would anyone do that?
    â€œI’m a tech nerd,” Cassie said, by way of explanation. That was usually enough. The farther she went into her job description, the more glazed over the eyes of her victim tended to get. Wheeling her suitcase into what she hoped was the main bedroom—score, it was—she set it to the side and did a quick three-sixty.
    Smaller than a typical master bedroom, but clean and comfortable. A full-size bed, nightstand, and dresser took up the majority of the room. But the flat screen mounted on the wall above the dresser was a nice touch.
    She walked back out to find Tabitha standing in the living room still, hands clasped in front of her. “I put the keys on the kitchen table. If you need food or anything, feel free to come knock on the door and ask our housekeeper for anything you require.”
    There it was. The housekeeper. Cassie used picking up the keys as a cover for her quick