you lock up?” he asked when they went out on the porch.
“Not during the day. What would be the point? Everyone knows I hide the key over the door.”
He gave her a sardonic glance. “Is the whole town as trusting as you?”
“I’m not trusting,” she shot right back. “If thieves want anything I’ve got, they’ll get in anyway. If the door’s open, they can go right in without breaking anything. See? It’s simple logic.”
“I have a feeling nothing is going to be simple about our relationship.”
She cast him a startled glance from under her lashes. Again a vision of the future came to her—of her running across a field with this man, holding hands and laughing, a child and a dog running ahead of them…
Retreating to sober reality, she realized he not only disturbed her heart, he sent her dreams into a tailspin. She didn’t understand it.
“We don’t have a relationship,” she stated.
“We will,” he declared.
2
“Would it be rude to ask your name?” Anne asked. She placed the two cups of cola on the table. The cups, one red, the other green, heralded the season’s colors.
Her companion put the hot dogs and curly fries, seasoned with Tex-Mex spices, on the table beside the drinks. “Jonathan Sinclair—Jon to my friends.” He smiled as if at some secret thought while he pulled out a chair and held it for her.
“Sinclair? As in Sinclair Ranch?”
“Right.”
Instead of sitting, she held out her hand. “Anne Hyden, as in the Flower Garden.”
He shook her hand, then held it as he asked, “Should this mean something to me?”
“I’m one of your customers. In fact, I have a big order in for Christmas. That’s only a little over three weeks away,” she reminded him. “It is going to be ready, isn’t it?”
He had no idea. “Would I let one of my best customers down?” He sincerely hoped not. That might delay, although not impede, the relationship between them.
“It’s been known to happen,” she said wryly. She took her seat. He sat opposite her.
She bit into her hot dog. He did the same. She tried to keep her eyes off him, but it was difficult. He had no such qualms. He stared at her, an gleam of intrigue in his eyes, as they ate. A man to watch out for, she decided. A man who could be dangerous to a woman’s heart.
“So you own a flower shop,” he said when he finished.
“Yes. It was a dream come true to be able to buy it when the owner retired.” She’d had to fight her aunt every step of the way, right up to the final closing. She licked a smear of mustard off her lips.
“I’d like to do that for you,” he murmured, his gaze glued to her mouth.
She wiped her lips with a napkin. “You’re disconcerting.”
“Do I make you nervous?”
More than that. He conjured up old dreams of forbidden things as a magician conjured up a hatful of Texas-size rabbits. “Yes. You’re rather unpredictable.”
“I’m not dangerous…only fascinated.”
“Do you always come on this strong?”
Jon wondered about that, too. It was unusual for him. Her forthright manner put him at ease. “Only when I know it’s going to be stupendous.”
“What?” She brushed her hair away from her face, another nervous gesture, he surmised.
“Our coming together.” He realized that could be taken more than one way and grinned when she fidgeted with her hair. He did make her nervous. It wasn’t a tenth of what she did to him. He could hardly wait to show her. But first…
“I’m not a marrying man,” he told her bluntly and watched to see how she’d take it.
“Has anyone ever asked you?” she inquired with only a token of polite interest after the briefest of pauses.
A surprised second ticked past. He threw back his head and laughed in delight. “This is going to be fun.”
“The chase or the seduction?” The imp danced in her eyes as she looked him over as an old-maid schoolmarm might.
“Both,” he promised, meaning it. He hooked an arm over the chair and pushed it onto the two back legs while he watched the thoughts dart through her eyes. He wished he could read them. She was an interesting woman.
“Oh-oh,” she said sotto voce. “Here come my relatives.”
He glanced over his shoulder. A man in a lightweight suit, a blue shirt and striped tie came toward them. The woman beside him wore a beige lace dress. They seemed to be dressed for a formal wedding rather than a bazaar. They were around fifty, a handsome couple actually, the man a tad thin, the woman a tad plump, but both energetic and healthy-looking.
He got to his feet when they approached the table.
Anne introduced them before they could speak. “My aunt and uncle, Marge and Joseph Pauly. Uncle Joe is the mayor. Aunt Marge is on the city council. She opposed him on a land-use tax and got elected. This is Jon Sinclair.”
“Marge. Joe. Glad to meet you.” Jon shook hands with them. He felt like a suitor on display as they looked him over.
As on the tax issue, he realized they had assessed him and come up on opposite sides. The mayor smiled benevolently; the councilwoman smiled coldly, disapproval in her eyes—which were the same intriguing blue as her niece’s.
The defiance he’d felt as a teenager surfaced. One thing he hated was being censured by self-righteous harpies, male or female.
“Are you all right?” The aunt turned to her niece as soon as the amenities were over. She peered at the younger woman so anxiously that Jon studied her, too.
She looked fine to him—a woman of many charms, all of which he’d like to sample. Also, she was levelheaded. She’d taken his announcement about marriage without a blink. Good. He liked savvy women.
“Of course,” Anne replied. “Did you know that Jon has taken over the Sinclair Ranch? It supplies the mums I get in for fall and the poinsettias at Christmas. He’s supplying the plants I’ll need for the country club dance during Christmas week.” She gave him a significant look that said those flowers had better be ready. Jon vowed to check on them first thing.
“You raise flowers?” The aunt was frankly disbelieving.
Jon assumed a broad grin and tried to look the part. “Yes, ma’am, I do, on one of the prettiest little spreads in all of Texas,” he drawled.
Anne nudged
