inside. She quickly pulled her composure together, meeting his captivating gaze with a cool one of her own. “Are you still here?”
He refused to allow her the upper hand. Besides, he had not yet played his trump card. He made an exaggerated show of glancing around, as if attempting to seek out something, then returned his attention to her. “Yep... as near as I can tell, I’m still here.”
His response seemed to fluster her. Her gaze darted around the room. He stood his ground and waited, refusing to say anything to relieve her obvious discomfort. He had to admit, if only to himself, that he was enjoying the moment.
“Well, uh, unless you plan to buy something, I’ll have to ask you to leave. We’re closing for the day.” She returned her attention to the receipts on the counter.
“In that case, I guess I’ll have to buy something.” He flashed her a teasing grin and gave her a quick wink before turning away from the counter. He surveyed the room for a moment, then inspected the items available for sale. He did not look back at her, even though the temptation was almost too much to resist. He fought the grin that tugged at the corners of his mouth as he picked up a bird feeder and examined it.
“I’ll take this.” He placed the feeder on the counter in front of her. He looked up, capturing her gaze and intimately holding it for a moment. He felt the warmth suffuse his body. He felt something else, too—a stirring that told him this was more than just a game. This woman had an effect on him far greater than he wanted to admit.
Relationships, commitment...he cynically reminded himself that it was all a sham. He had seen too many bad marriages to believe otherwise, not the least of which had been his father’s four subsequent wives after divorcing his mother. No man should be married five times. And with his father’s track record there was no reason to believe that the fifth ex-Mrs. Douglas Fowler—a woman who had been relegated to the position after only one year of marriage—would be the last one.
Not liking the path his thoughts seemed to be taking, Chance forced the distasteful topic from his mind.
“What kind of birds will I get with this feeder?”
Marcie made every effort to keep the conversation all-business. She also made no effort to be civil about it. “None, unless you buy some bird feed to go with it.”
“What would you recommend?” He was determined to prolong their meeting, as determined as she seemed to be to end it.
She brushed a loose tendril of hair away from her face. Her voice revealed her impatience with him. “Really, Mr. Fowler, is this conversation necessary? Don’t you have something important you should be doing someplace else?”
“I find this to be something important.” The words, soft and sincere, had slipped out without him meaning for them to. He quickly recovered his breezy facade. “As you said, the bird feeder is no good without something to go inside it. So—” he reached for a ten-pound sack of wild bird feed “—is this what I need?”
“Yes.” Her reply was curt. She did not intend to waste any more time on him by discussing the merits of one type of feed over another. She just wanted him to leave. “Will that be cash or charge?”
“Cash.”
He pulled his wallet from his pocket while she rang up the sale. She took his money, gave him his change, then placed the items in a box and shoved them across the counter toward him.
She tried to sound as cool and confident as she could even though her stomach churned and her nerve endings tingled with a surge of excitement when she caught a whiff of his aftershave. “Goodbye, Mr. Fowler.”
“Goodbye?” He leaned forward, pressing the palms of his hands against the counter. He lowered his voice to a soft, intimate level. “I thought maybe we could have a drink when you finished here. It would allow me to apologize... and give us an opportunity to get to know each other better.”
It took all the fortitude she could muster to fix him with a stern look. “I believe we know each other as well as we need to. Goodbye, Mr. Fowler.”
He refused to be put off. It was definitely time for that trump card. He picked up the box containing his purchases and flashed a devastating smile. “I’ll see you later, Marcie Roper.”
She stared at his retreating form, her mouth hanging open in stunned silence. Even though she had accused him of tracking her down, she had been so startled by his sudden appearance that it had not occurred to her to ask him how he knew her name or where to find her. She started to call after him, but quickly closed her mouth. Nothing would be gained by making him think she had any interest in his detective skills.
She watched as he left the nursery and crossed the parking lot to his car, every step and gesture indicative of a man who knew exactly who he was, where he was going, and what he wanted out of life. She hurried to lock the front door and put out the Closed sign. She paused for a moment and took a deep breath in an attempt to restore some semblance of order to the shambles his presence had made of her routine.
She returned to the cash register and began ringing up the totals for the day’s business. The sound of someone tapping against the front window drew her attention away from her work. She looked up to see Chance Fowler motioning for her to let him in. She shook her head and mouthed the words, “We’re closed,” while pointing to the sign.
He tapped on the window again and triumphantly displayed his hidden prize. He held up the sack so she could see it.
Marcie squinted as she stared at the object, at first not understanding the significance it held. Then the words came into focus—the sack was from the bookstore where she had picked up her order the day Chance Fowler had turned her life upside down. Could it possibly be the bag she had lost? She furrowed her brow in confusion as she made her way toward the door.
Again he motioned for her to unlock the door and let him in. She hesitated for a moment, then complied with his wishes... to a certain extent. She unlocked and opened the door, but did not stand aside to allow him entry. She stared at the sack without reaching for it, then shifted her gaze to him as her curiosity outweighed her impatience. “I’m really very busy right now, Mr. Fowler. Just what is it you want?”
“I believe I have something here that belongs to you. May I come in?”
She hesitated, then stepped aside.
Chance walked across the room and placed the bag on the counter. “You dropped this the other day. I tried to follow you to return it, but by the time I got to the corner you had disappeared.” He reached into the sack, withdrew the sales slip and placed it on the counter. “Fortunately, this had your name on it.”
She picked up the sales receipt and looked at it, then took the books from the bag. Her voice grew soft, conveying just a hint of embarrassment as she inspected the contents. “I—I thought they were lost for good. This one—” she held up the large volume about the Civil War “—is a birthday present for my father.” She ran her fingertips across the cover of the book, then looked up at the very handsome man standing on the other side of the counter.
Her manner softened considerably. “Thank you for returning my books.” Her words were unquestionably sincere.
“I’m just glad that I was able to track you down. I thought it was the least I could do in light of the fact that it was probably my fault that you dropped them.” Her shy smile captured and held him as tightly as if she had physically
