granules.
Besides, he knew when he would make his move. Calamity Jane didn’t have a purse, and there were no pockets that he could see in her bedraggled skirt. His guess was that she’d gone off in such a huff that she’d left her money behind. He pursued her at a leisurely pace, selecting a bottle of burgundy to accompany her spaghetti dinner and adding a frozen pie for dessert.
He lined up behind his quarry at the checkout, feeling an unsettling surge of affection for her while his anxiety ran amok. What if his plan didn’t work? What if she was married? She didn’t have a ring on her finger, but that was no guarantee. Maybe she lost her ring this morning when she was bathing the baby.
He peered over her shoulder and warily watched the fresh mushrooms and sweet peppers glide along the belt. She’d probably burned down three kitchens and poisoned countless men. Could that be why she wasn’t wearing a ring? Most likely she’d killed her husband-accidentally run him over with her flashy red car. Maybe he should reconsider… Nah.
The checker smiled at Amy. “Forty-three dollars and seventy-six cents.”
Amy froze. No purse. There was a sweep of momentary panic until she mentally retraced her steps and assured herself the purse was safely stowed in her locker at the station. This is what happens when you lose control of your emotions, she thought. You make an idiot of yourself in the supermarket.
Jake waited. Timing was everything. You couldn’t look too eager when you were picking women up at the supermarket like this. Not that he’d ever done it before, but he just knew you had to be cool about these things.
Amy pressed her lips together in dismay. “I’m sorry. I don’t have my purse with me.”
The checker looked unconcerned. “She forgot her purse.”
“Oh.” Steady, Elliott, he cautioned. Subtlety, that’s the key word. You have to be subtle. He turned his big soft brown eyes to Amy. “Do you live far away? Maybe you can call someone to bring the money. A neighbor?” Slight pause. “Your husband?” Clever, he thought, very clever. Hold your breath…
She looked despondent. “I just moved into the neighborhood. I don’t know anyone, and I don’t have a husband.”
Whew! She didn’t have a husband. Jake tried to control the smile that was twitching across his mouth. “Maybe I can help. I’d be happy to loan you the money.”
“That’s very nice of you, but I couldn’t let you do that. You don’t even know me.”
Jake studied her flushed face, allowing his gaze to roam from her cap of shiny curls to her slightly upturned nose and kissable bow-shaped mouth. Her neck was smooth and elegant, her breasts small and round.
His gaze lingered at the torn skirt, wondering at the slender legs hidden within. “That’s true. I don’t know you, and you do look a little… um, unkempt.”
Amy looked down at her skirt. “It was my car. It ate my skirt.”
Jake nodded sympathetically. He glanced at the bags of groceries sitting in her cart. “I’ll tell you what, I’ll make a deal with you. It looks to me like you’ve got the makings of a spaghetti dinner there. As you can see”-he pointed to his cartful of TV dinners-“my culinary skills stop at defrosting. I’ll pay for your food, if you’ll make me a home- cooked meal. Fair?”
Now it was Amy’s turn to take a long hard look at Jacob Elliott, six feet tall with broad shoulders, slim hips, and running shoes held together with surgical tape. A few crisp black hairs curled from the open neck of his shirt. His sleeves had been rolled to the elbow, displaying strong corded forearms, and Amy guessed that the shirt hid muscles in all the right places. He was perfectly yummy. Coffee-colored hair waved over his eyes and along his neck, giving him a slightly rugged look, which was substantiated by a five o’clock shadow. Perfect teeth flashed white against a dashing smile any pirate would have been proud to own.
Amy felt a shiver run along her spine and instinctively checked to make sure her blouse was buttoned. “I don’t think so,” she answered, trying to ignore the fact that her mouth had gone dry as sand.
The checkout clerk shook her head in disbelief. “What a ninny.”
Amy felt her jaw drop. “I beg your pardon?”
The older woman stood with her hand on her hip and grinned. “Wouldn’t catch me turning down a chance to cook
“I don’t know this man. He could be an axe murderer.”
“Honey, this is Dr. Elliott. Everyone knows Dr. Elliott. He owns the veterinary clinic just around the corner.”
The checker one aisle over leaned across her cash register. “Dr. Elliott saved Sarah Maxwell’s cat when it was run over by a truck. Cat was a terrible mess, but Dr. Elliott worked on that poor little thing and stitched it together like new.”
“And Frannie Newfarmer’s beagle,” a woman two carts behind Amy added. “He nursed her beagle back to health when it was poisoned by the gardening service. Dr. Elliott slept in the office every night for almost a week, watching over that dog, till he was sure the little fella would live.”
Jacob Elliott smiled down at Amy. “See, you can trust me.”
Not by the hairs on your chinny chin chin, she thought. There was unmistakable mischief in his liquid brown eyes-bedroom eyes. And his wide mouth had a sensual curve to it that went straight to the pit of her stomach. He might be great at saving beagles, but she’d bet he was hell on single women. “I don’t live far from here,” Amy explained. “I’ll drive home and get some money.”
Jake slouched against his cart, counting the seconds until she realized her keys were locked in her car. When the startled expression appeared in her eyes he calmly paid for both their groceries and escorted her to the parking lot. “The large jeep-type vehicle,” he told her. “The purple job with the big black dog.”
Amy stumbled slightly at the sight of the “purple job.” It was big and square, more maroon than purple, splattered with mud and riddled with rust. A coat hanger antenna zigzagged crazily from the hood, and a bashed-in rear bumper sported a faded sticker that read HAVE YOU HUGGED YOUR VETERINARIAN TODAY? She’d never been one to look a gift horse in the mouth, but she wasn’t sure about being hauled home in a car Fred Flintstone would have rejected. It was definitely past its prime… by about three hundred years.
Jake opened the door and put the groceries in back with the dog. “This is Spot. Spot, meet-”
“Amy Klasse.” She patted Spot on the head. “One of your patients?”
“My roommate.”
The dog was black, a sleek, shiny ebony without a single white or brown hair on his entire body. “I know I’m going to regret asking, but why is this animal named ‘Spot’?”
“I always wanted a dog named ‘Spot.’ ”
“Of course.”
Jake turned the key in the ignition and seemed unperturbed by the loud grinding sounds emanating from the engine. “Do you have any roommates?”
“I live with a cat.”
“That’s it?” Jake asked, barely able to keep from grinning.
“Pardon?”
“Just a cat?” No mother, father, sister, brother, girl friend, boyfriend, maiden aunt? He’d never felt so lucky.
“Just a cat.” No husband. No fiance. No boyfriend. She wasn’t sure why. Most likely it was her lifestyle. Her alarm rang at four a.m. Quick shower, fix hair, English muffin, apply beginnings of makeup, get to studio for early- morning taping. Afternoon rehearsal and promotional appearances. Supper. Early to bed-alone. And then there was-that. That physical, um, situation.
Amy sighed. She never sighed-especially not about her life. She liked her life. At least she had liked it until today, when she lost her job, ripped her skirt, made a shambles of the supermarket, and last but
Panic rippled through her. She didn’t know this man, and not only was he driving her home… he was invited for dinner. She couldn’t believe she was doing this. Cautious Amy, the woman who avoided singles bars like the plague,
