style="font-size:15px;"> Burke held up both hands innocently. “No reason.”
With a roll of her eyes and a shake of her head, she stalked away. He stayed where he was, watching. The woman had a walk that could stop traffic. She also had a temper. She has changed, he thought. Even more surprising—he liked it.
He waited to close the door until she was out of sight. Although the sun wasn’t shining, the room seemed brighter somehow, the air more fragrant. There was no doubt about it; the day had just gotten better. He didn’t appreciate the fact that Lily was seeing Stryker tonight, but no matter what she said about who’d kissed whom, her response had been an encouraging step in the right direction.
He was a patient man. A doctor couldn’t survive without it. Hell, he couldn’t have survived his family without patience. Louetta had a date with Stryker tonight. Well, well, well. It was up to Burke to make sure her mind was on the right man. Humming under his breath, he opened the directory and picked up the phone.
Louetta made it back to the diner in record time. She hung up her coat with one hand and reached for a clean apron with the other. Glancing at the stack of clean dishes Cletus was in the process of drying, she smiled and headed for the swinging door that separated the kitchen from the dining room.
Her smile slipped a little as every eyebrow in the place rose in quiet speculation. Reaching for the coffee carafe, she filled the Anderson brothers’ cups and moved on to the next table where Wes was in the process of taking a seat across from Boomer and DoraLee Brown.
“Mornin’, Lou.”
“Hi, Wes,” she answered, her smile returning as he pulled another bouquet from behind his back. “You didn’t have to bring me more flowers,” she admonished, taking the pink carnations in her empty hand.
The dazed look Wes usually wore these days cleared. Eyeing her as if he was trying to figure something out, he said, “You alone in the kitchen?”
She glanced over her shoulder, catching DoraLee’s eye on the way by. “Cletus is helping with the dishes. Why?”
“Old Cletus McCully?” Wes sputtered, his gaze homing in on her mouth.
“Is there a young Cletus McCully, sugar?” DoraLee asked.
As if deciding he must have imagined something, Wes said, “Aren’t you gonna read the card?”
She placed the carafe on the table and opened the small card. “Roses are red. Daisies are sunny. You’re much nicer than any rodeo bunny.”
“That’s sweet, Wes.” She automatically placed her fingertips over her mouth, which in turn automatically reminded her of how her lips had tingled when Burke had kissed her. Suddenly flustered, she said something about putting the flowers in water and hurried into the kitchen. Thankful that Cletus was going about what he’d been doing, she took a moment to reorient herself. She was feeling much calmer by the time she took a pitcher off a shelf and filled it with water, adding the bouquet of flowers one stern at a time. “The coast’s clear, Cletus. Gussie and Addie are gone.”
“Hallelujah.”
Eyeing all the clean dishes, she said, “No wonder they’re both after you. Not only are you handsome and witty, but you do dishes, too.”
Cletus McCully blanched. “If you’re trying to rattle me, it’s working.”
“This must be the day for being rattled,” she muttered under her breath. “Can I ask you something, Cletus?” she said, placing the pitcher filled with carnations on the counter.
He nodded his craggy head one time.
“Is my sweater on backward, or is my hair a mess, or have I grown a third eye or something?”
He looked her up and down as only a man could. “Your hair’s a little windblown, and I ain’t used to seeing it down around your shoulders, but everything seems to be in the right place. Why?”
“Well, everybody’s looking at me as if—never mind.”
Cletus slapped his towel on the counter. Making a tsk, tsk, tsk sound, he headed for the door. “You look fine. Pretty. Like a woman who’s recently been thoroughly kissed.”
The door swung closed behind him. This time it was Louetta who blanched.
She didn’t move until the door had stopped swinging on its hinges. Merciful heavens. She had been thoroughly kissed. She’d had no idea it showed. No wonder everybody was looking at her strangely.
Louetta Graham simply didn’t know how to handle this kind of attention, this kind of speculation. There was something to be said for being a wallflower, for blending in with the scenery. No, she told herself, putting the stacked dishes on the shelves where they belonged. Going unnoticed by people she’d known all her life had been a lonely way to exist. It had taken courage to make a stand three years ago. It had taken courage to dig her way out of her shell. She couldn’t slide back in now, when she’d come so far.
The old Louetta would have taken the cowardly way out and stayed in the kitchen until everyone left. The new Louetta had no room in her life for craven tendencies and faintheartedness. Taking a deep breath, she pushed through the swinging door.
She let out a little yelp as a man swooped in front of her and pulled her to him the second she entered the room. “Wes,” she exclaimed, watching in dismay as his face descended to hers.
His kiss had come out of the blue, which pretty much described the color of his eyes and the wink he gave her moments later. “There,” he said, sauntering toward the door. “Might as well keep the gossips on their toes, don’tcha think? I’ll see you tonight, Lou.”
Louetta stared after him, one hand over her mouth, the other over her heart. She knew her cheeks were flaming. And she knew everyone was looking at her. She couldn’t bring herself to care.
Plain, shy Louetta Graham had gone thirty-three years without being kissed. Suddenly, at thirty-five, she’d been kissed by two of the most ruggedly attractive men in the entire state of South Dakota, and all in the span of fifteen minutes. Whatever was a woman to do?
“There I was,” Wes Stryker said, blue eyes full of mischief as he regaled Louetta with another rodeo story, “balancin’ on the top rung of the chute, all psyched to climb onto that bronco’s back and stay there. Only, the horse had other ideas. And I knew, the second my butt hit the saddle, that I was in for quite a ride.”
Louetta leaned forward in her chair, her stomach comfortably full, both hands curled around a cup of coffee, intrigued as much by the warmth and friendliness in Wes’s expression as by the tale itself. “Did you last your eight seconds?” she asked, feeling her smile broaden at the look of self-confidence and humor on Wes’s lean face.
“The longest eight and a half seconds of my life. Near as I can tell, ridin’ a bucking bronco is a lot like steering a spaceship through reentry.”
“How many times have you steered a spaceship through reentry?” Louetta asked around a grin.
Although she hadn’t seen much of Wes since they’d graduated from high school, she
