“Thank you,” she stammered. “Are you looking for Winnie and Mrs. Manley? They had to run to the store....”
“I came to see you, cupcake,” he said softly, his wide-brimmed hat shadowing his eyes as they searched hers. “But I hardly dared hope I’d find you alone.”
She felt her heart race. “Did you?” she whispered.
He tipped her chin up and bent his head unexpectedly, brushing his mouth with lazy expertise over her parted lips. “No, that won’t do,” he breathed, his voice deep and slow as he reached for her. “Come close, little one.”
He enveloped her in his muscular arms and drew her against his body as he bent again. This time the kiss was longer, harder, but so different from the way he’d kissed her two nights ago. This one was gentle, full of respect and warmth. She reacted to it with all her heart, sliding her arms under his and around his lean waist, loving the way his mouth played with hers and teased around it between kisses.
“Very nice,” he mused when he lifted his head. It was much better like this, gentle and sweet, so that she responded and didn’t fight or draw away. He liked it when she wasn’t frightened. “Dessert, in the middle of the day,” he added, teasing. “You taste sweet.”
She laughed softly, her hazel eyes adoring him. “I just ate a cinnamon bun.”
“And that wasn’t what I meant,” he murmured. “Does tomorrow suit you to drive up to Hardin? We can leave about nine, if you like.”
“Oh, yes,” she said, already excited.
“Good. I’ll make sure I’m free. Wear jeans and boots. There are rattlers in that area. I don’t want you hurt.”
Her smile widened. “I will,” she promised, surprised and pleased that he was concerned about her. Being with him shot her through and through with pleasure.
He drew his forefinger down her nose. “Don’t get sunstroke out here. What are you doing?”
“Weeding Mrs. Manley’s flowers,” she said. “I hate just sitting around. I hate talk shows and I can’t do handicrafts. I like working.”
The women he usually escorted liked to preen and put themselves on display. He scowled as he thought about it. Not one of them would like getting her hands dirty digging in a garden. His eyes slid over Allison’s soft face and lingered there. His mother had been an enthusiastic gardener, too.
“Do you have a garden where you live?” he asked suddenly.
Her smile faded and she averted her eyes to the spade she was using. “Yes, I had a vegetable garden,” she said. “But it...was ruined.”
“I’m sorry. I don’t think Winnie’s mother grows vegetables.”
“No, she’s a flower enthusiast,” Allison replied. She looked up at him again, smiling as she studied the way he looked in his working clothes, very lean and lithe and Western. Very masculine, too, as he stood with his hands on his hips, his Stetson low over his eyes. “You look like an ad for a Western vacation,” she said involuntarily. “Very, very handsome.”
He chuckled. “That’s it, hit me in my weak spot.”
She laughed, too. “You could have phoned. About Hardin, I mean.”
“I know.” He touched her soft mouth lightly. “I wanted to see you. Don’t overdo. I’ll pick you up at nine.”
“Okay,” she said, her voice low and gentle.
He winked at her, but he didn’t touch her again. He pulled his hat lower over one eye and strode back to the Jeep. He didn’t look back as he drove away. She had a feeling that he never did, and it just vaguely disturbed her. It was a reminder that he wasn’t a committing man. And he was used to walking away from women without looking back.
But by the time he picked her up the next morning, she’d convinced herself that she was going to be the one exception to his rule. He did at least seem to be different with her since the other night, when she’d drawn back from his overwhelming ardor. Maybe he sensed her innocence and wasn’t put off by it. She laughed silently. More likely, he’d decided that roughness might put her off him, and he was soft pedaling his raging desire until he could coax her into satisfying it. She had to be realistic, but it was difficult when she was so vulnerable to him. That had to be mutual, though, she told herself. Otherwise, why would he have come all the way to the Manleys’ to see her, when he could have phoned? She tingled with the delicious possibilities.
He was dressed in jeans and boots and a brown-and-white patterned Western shirt, the familiar Stetson cocked over one eye. Allison had dressed similarly, with a beige tank top under a blue-and-brown striped shirt. She laughed at the way they matched.
So did Gene. He helped her into the truck, jamming a Caterpillar bibbed cap down over her hair, which she’d pulled up in a soft bun. The cap came down to her eyebrows. “You can fix that. There’s an adjustable strap in the back,” he told her as he drove. “I figured you’d forget your hat.”
She beamed. He was taking such good care of her. She looked at him, her heart overflowing with warm feelings. “Thanks,” she said softly, and adjusted the plastic strip.
“I have to take care of my best girl,” he said softly. The strange thing was that he meant it. She was the best girl he’d ever taken out. She wasn’t demanding or petulant or sulky. She reminded him of bright summer sunshine, always cheerful.
She became radiant as she heard the words, blushing. It got worse when he reached out and tangled her fingers in his as he drove.
“Miss me?” he asked gently.
“Oh, yes,” she said, not bothering with subterfuge.
He glanced at her, his eyes lingering on her rosy cheeks and soft, parted mouth before he forced his gaze back to
