He helped her gather up her things, mainly handling the delicate objects that required manual dexterity. Like panties. As something of a connoisseur, he judged hers to be more Wal-Mart than Agent Provocateur, but she still had a nice assortment of bikinis in bright colors and bold prints. No thongs, though. And, most disconcerting, no lace. Since the Beav’s delicate, pointed face—minus the sweat and the accompanying fur—belonged in a Mother Goose book, there should have been lace.

“Judging by your former landlady’s attitude,” he said as he loaded her suitcase and duffel into the Vanguard’s trunk, “I’m guessing you’re missing eighty-two dollars’ rent money.”

“More than that. I had two hundred dollars tucked away in that room.”

“You’ve got a string of bad luck going for yourself.”

“I’m used to it. Not that it’s all just bad luck. Some of it is plain old stupidity.” She gazed at the house. “I knew Monty would come back here as soon as I found that Dylan CD under the bed. But instead of hiding my money in the car, I tucked it inside the new issue of People. Monty hates People. He says only cretins read it, so I was sure the money’d be safe.”

Dean wasn’t a regular People reader, but he had a certain loyalty. During his photo shoot, the staff couldn’t have been nicer.

“I’m assuming you want to go to Ben’s Big Beaver Lumberyard,” he said after he’d helped her inside. “Unless you’re trying to set a fashion trend.”

“Will you let it go?” The Beav had taken a powerful dislike to him, which was more than a little disconcerting, since she was female and he was…well…Dean Robillard. She spotted the map he’d tossed down. “Tennessee?”

“I have a vacation place not too far from Nashville.” Last week he’d liked the sound of those words. Now he wasn’t so sure. He might live in Chicago, but he was a California boy through and through, so why had he bought a Tennessee farm?

“You’re a country western singer?”

He thought it over. “Nope. You were nearly right the first time. I’m a movie star.”

“I never heard of you.”

“Did you see the new Reese Witherspoon film?”

“Yeah.”

“I was in the one right before that.”

“Sure you were.” She gave a long sigh and rested her head against the back of the seat. “You have an incredible car. Expensive clothes. My life gets suckier and suckier. I’ve fallen in with a drug dealer.”

“I’m not a drug dealer!” he retorted hotly.

“You’re not a movie star.”

“Don’t rub it in. The truth is, I’m a semifamous male model with ambitions of being a movie star.”