you-can-trust-me killer smile of his, the man was a natural woman-magnet. And if the stories told about him were true—which she seriously doubted, since he was, after all, a politician—he had more going for him than just a handsome face and a to-die-for body. He was intelligent and possessed an almost uncanny business sense, with a degree from Texas A&M and a successful cattle operation to substantiate both. And he was a philanthropist, to boot, she remembered hearing somewhere, donating both his time and his money to causes that focused on abused children and troubled teens.
Handsome and with a tender and generous heart. What more could a woman ask for in a man? she asked herself.
Scowling, she rammed her wide-brimmed hat farther down on her head. “One who doesn’t live in a fishbowl,” she reminded herself.
With her knees buried in rich brown dirt, she kept her head down and her gaze focused on the weeds sprouting in her garden, telling herself that she wouldn’t think about Gil Riley anymore. He was a walking, talking nightmare she didn’t need in her life or her head right now or at any time in the future, no matter how attractive she found him.
But in spite of her determination to do otherwise, thoughts and images of the governor continued to drift through her mind as she worked in her garden, just as they had from the moment he’d waltzed into the kitchen at the party she’d catered, catching her unawares with his suggestion that she should’ve tapped a keg, instead of serving flutes of champagne.
Tapped a keg.
A smile twitched at her lips at the memory. But the smile slowly melted when a pair of cowboy boots moved into her line of vision only inches from her hand.
It can’t be, she told herself, staring in horror at the tips of the custom-made boots.
“You’re hard as hell to track down, you know it?”
It not only could be, she realized, recognizing the governor’s distinctive drawl, it was. She forced a swallow, then was careful to fix a frown on her face before looking up. “What are you doing here? Hiding out again?”
“No. I came to see you.”
His smile was as warm and guileless as the sunshine that beamed down on her face. But it was wasted on Suzy. She’d learned long ago not to trust a man’s smile or be fooled by one’s charm. She sank back on her heels and narrowed her eyes at him. “Why?”
He lifted a shoulder. “No reason. Was just in the neighborhood and thought I’d drop by and say hello.”
She rocked forward, planted a gloved hand against the ground and started pulling weeds again. “Okay. You’ve said it. Now beat it, before I call the cops and have you arrested for trespassing.”
Instead of leaving, as she’d hoped, he hunkered down opposite her, braced an arm on his thigh and dipped his head down to look at her. “Have I done something to offend you?”
She crawled to the next plant, refusing to look at him. “You’re still breathing, aren’t you?”
“Yeah, and obviously that doesn’t please you.” He duck-walked to keep pace with her. “But what I want to know is why?”
With a frustrated huff, she fell back on her heels. “Is there a law that says every woman in the state has to drop at your feet and pant when you say heel?”
A slow grin spread across his face. “No. But if that’s what it takes to get you to agree to go out with me, I’ll see what I can do to push a bill through Congress to that effect.”
She rolled her eyes and leaned to snatch at a weed. “Don’t waste your time.” He closed a hand over hers, stilling her movements, and she jerked up her head to glare at him.
“Look,” he said patiently. “All I’m asking for is a little of your time. A chance to get to know you, and for you to get to know me. Now, that’s not too much to ask, is it?”
“Suzy? Is that you, dear?”
She groaned at the sound of her neighbor’s warbling voice coming from the other side of the privacy fence. “Yes, it’s me, Mrs. Woodley!”
“Are you all right, dear? I thought I heard a man’s voice.”
She snatched her hand from beneath Gil’s. “Nosy busybody,” she muttered, then raised her voice, “Yes, I’m fine, Mrs. Woodley. Just visiting with a—” she glanced at Gil and curled her lip in a snarl “—friend.”
“Who, dear?”
Hissing a breath through her teeth, she scrambled to her feet and grabbed Gil’s hand, tugging him to his feet, as well. “No one you know, Mrs. Woodley!” Dragging Gil behind her, she ran for the house. “I’m going inside now, Mrs. Woodley,” she yelled. “Talk to you later.”
Before the woman could respond, Suzy yanked Gil inside the house and slammed and locked the door behind them. Ripping off her hat and gloves, she tossed them onto the table as she raced to the window that faced her neighbor’s house.
Gil chuckled as he watched her jerk down the shade. “I take it Mrs. Woodley is a bit like Gladys Kravitz.”
She snorted as she darted past him to pull down the shade over the window above the kitchen sink. “Worse. And if she finds out the governor’s at my house, she’ll be on the phone telling all her friends. Wouldn’t surprise me if she herded them all over to ask for your autograph.”
He lifted a shoulder. “I’d be happy to give all your neighbors my autograph.”
She sent him a withering look as she headed down a hall.
Shaking his head, Gil followed. “Are you going to pull every shade in the house?”
“You’re darn right I am.” In the living room she dropped a knee onto the sofa and stretched to grab the shade that partially covered the window behind it. She froze, then leaned over the back of the sofa to peer outside. “Oh, no,” she moaned.
Gil crossed to stand behind her, stooping to see what had disturbed her. “What is it?”
She grabbed the string and jerked down the shade. “Not what. Who!”
Not having seen anything out of the ordinary, he straightened. “Who, then?”
She pushed from the sofa and stood, wringing her hands as she stared at the front door, as if she expected it to burst open at any moment. “Reporters.”
“Reporters?” Gil moved to the end of the sofa and lifted the shade a fraction to peer outside. He glanced over his shoulder. “You mean those guys in that black sedan across the street?”
She gulped, then nodded.
He laughed and dropped the shade. “They aren’t reporters. They’re my bodyguards. Although Dave acts like an overprotective father at times.”
“Are you sure?”
“Sure I’m sure.” He opened the door and shouted. “Hey, Dave! Show this lady your ID.”
The man behind the wheel lifted a hip, pulled out his wallet and flipped it open. Sunshine glinted off a
