time on Sundays. Are you interested?
Mellie stared at the screen. Interested in what? The shiver that snaked down her spine had less to do with cold air hitting her damp hair than it did the prospect of deliberately placing herself beneath Case’s roof during nonbusiness hours.
Then a third text: You’ve already been exposed. Why not keep me company?
Why not, indeed? She slid into the driver’s seat, uncertain how to answer. She decided to go with bland and professional and see what happened. I don’t work on Sundays, she texted. Hope you’re feeling better. I thought I would stay out of your way for now. Once you’re well, I can pick up where I left off.
She made it a habit not to text and drive, so on the way home she ignored the series of dings indicating she had new messages. It wasn’t until she pulled into her garage that she let herself read Case’s responses...one right after another.
I don’t give a damn right now if my house is clean and organized.
I’m bored.
Give a guy a break.
How humiliating was it that her hands shook as she used her phone? Case was telling the truth. He was bored, and he thought Mellie was available. She should ignore him...pretend her cell was turned off...or invent a very important function she simply couldn’t miss.
Gnawing her lip, she walked a fine line between cordial and suggestive. You sound grumpy.
Of course I’m grumpy, he shot back. I’m in solitary confinement.
You probably deserve it. Oops. That definitely sounded flirtatious. JK, she added rapidly.
Her phone stayed silent for a full two minutes. She’d offended him. Yikes.
Finally, he wrote back.
Please come see me, Mellie. I’ll be on my best behavior. And you don’t need to cook for me. I’ve got enough food here to feed an army regiment.
Well, shoot. She was a strong person, but not strong enough to say no to something she really wanted. She tapped the screen.
Okay...give me an hour. Do you need me to bring anything?
Just you.
As a woman, she was generally low maintenance. An hour should have been enough time to get ready and drive out to the ranch. But she dithered over what to wear. Finally, she chose a charcoal-gray wool skirt with knee-high black leather boots and a scoop-necked black sweater with a gray chevron pattern across the chest. Silver hoop earrings and a silver necklace with a key charm completed her look.
The outfit was probably too dressy. But she could always let him think she had worn this to church. Her mother’s voice echoed in her head. Never pretend to be something you’re not, Mellie. Tell the truth, even if it hurts.
Mellie stared in the mirror, tucking a stray fiery strand behind her ear. For a moment, she contemplated leaving her long hair loose. But that might send the wrong message. Since she wasn’t exactly sure what it was that she wanted to communicate to Case Baxter, it was probably smarter not to be quite so...flamboyant.
Her hair was hard to miss. Which was why she often kept it confined to a knot on top of her head or in a ponytail. Neither style seemed appropriate for tonight. She pulled the thick mass of red and gold to the side of her neck, secured it with a hairband and let it fall over one shoulder.
As she examined her reflection in the mirror, she saw much more than a young woman dressed up for an evening that was definitely not a date. She saw uncertainty. Maybe a slice of anxiety. Most visible, however, was the undercurrent of excitement.
Grimacing, she turned and fled before she could change her mind again about what to wear. She grabbed her coat from the closet by the front door, slid her arms into it, freed her hair and scooped up her car keys.
The early evening had turned foggy. Case’s house appeared out of the gathering gloom like a regal old lady, sure of her place in the community. Lonely, perhaps, but unapologetic. A light beside the front door offered a welcoming glow.
Mellie felt her pulse wobble as she climbed the steps to the porch.
Case met her at the top of the stairs, the door half-open behind him. “It’s about time,” he said. When he grinned, she knew he was teasing.
“You shouldn’t be outside,” she said. “It’s freezing.”
He put an arm around her shoulders and steered her into the house. “I had to get some fresh air. It’s like a tomb in here.”
As he took her coat, she smiled wryly. “Nicest tomb I’ve ever seen.”
He shrugged. “I’m still running a fever. You can’t trust anything I say.”
And wasn’t that the crux of the matter?
She laughed because he wanted her to. Still, the irony was not lost on her. “Do you really have a temperature?”
Case stopped short and bent his head. Taking her hand, he placed it on his forehead. “See.”
He wasn’t kidding. “How long since you’ve had medicine?”
“I don’t know. Four hours? Five? It’s probably time.”
“Case...”
“Don’t scold me,” he said. “It makes me hot, and I’m too weak to ravish you.” He urged her along the hallway and into the den. A roaring fire in the fireplace added warmth and color to a room that was sophisticated but comfy. A silver tray laden with an assortment of decadent treats was set up on the coffee table in front of the sofa.
After surveying the chocolate-dipped strawberries, champagne and candied fruits, she shot Case an incredulous glance. “Where on earth did this come from? Your friends have outdone themselves.”
He sat down rather suddenly, his face an alarming shade of white. “My friends brought fried chicken and green beans. I ordered this stuff online from a specialty shop in town.”
“Ah.” The small luxuries seemed an odd choice for a man recovering from the flu. But then again, her personal experience with wealthy men was practically nonexistent. Perhaps for Case, this was the equivalent of buttered popcorn and jujubes at the movie theater.
“Sit down,” he said gruffly, his eyes closed. “I’ll be okay in a minute.”
“Did you actually eat any of the fried chicken?” she asked.
“Not yet. I took a shower.”
The unspoken inference was that getting his hand-delivered meal onto a plate was more than he could handle. Poor man. “Rest for a few minutes and I’ll bring your meal in here.”
“Thanks.”
He was trying so hard to act tough, but the flu was no respecter of persons. Even a broad-shouldered, macho, athletic guy like Case Baxter could fight back only so far before admitting defeat.
In the kitchen she saw that Case had piled a few dirty
