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OneEvan Maxwell was accustomed to odd char-acters. People came into his showroom dressed in everything from torn up blue jeans to business suits, but this woman looked as out of place in his Harley-Davidson dealership as . . . well, as he would look dressed out in his leath-ers at a society tea. She seemed to know it, as well. She reminded hím of a cat trying to walk through a dog pound without attracting too much attention. He took pity on her."May I help you?"Huge brown eyes met his, then flicked over him with wary assessment. "I'm looking for a Mr. Evan Maxwell?"Her voice was as cultured as her outfit, soft and definitely southern. Evan gave her his most devastating smile. "You've found him." He'd almost added "sugár" but swallowed it abruptly. She wasn't the "sugár" type, even if she was dressed in white from her neck to her toes."I have been on the phone all morning, Mr.