eyes touched his face and shied away. “You’re my first guest in this house. I thought I’d celebrate.”
He nodded and sat down while she ladled steaming fragrant soup into his bowl and offered him slices of crusty warm bread.
“Would you like a beer?” she asked, and he relaxed a little. At least she wasn’t pouring French wine.
“No, thanks. I don’t drink when I’m going to operate a chain saw or heavy equipment.”
“Oh. No, of course not.”
“I haven’t seen a woman blush in a long time,” he heard himself say.
That did it. Her cheeks were now as rosy as though a winter freeze were biting at them. But she also laughed.
“I don’t usually blush. I think it must be you.”
Him? What was she saying? If she’d been any other woman, he would have known, but her? Why him?
“I’m sorry if I’m making you uncomfortable,” he said clumsily.
He almost thought he heard her sigh. “Are you married?” she asked.
His heart did a peculiar heavy-footed dance in his chest. “No.”
Her cheeks hadn’t faded one iota. “Engaged or…or…”
He helped her out. “No.”
“Oh.”
A slow smile was growing on his face. “Are you going somewhere with this, ma’am?”
“I’m just curious,” she said with dignity.
He laid down his butter knife and said quietly, “Good.”
Their eyes met and held for a long quivering moment. The breath of air he sucked in seared his chest.
“I know you’re not married,” he said. “Are you divorced?”
“Widowed.” Pain, or at least regret, twisted her mouth. “Five years ago. My husband was an idiot. He made an ultra-light from a kit. He was flying it when it drifted into some electrical wires. The day was windy—” She snorted. “But he had to go up.”
“You didn’t approve of his hobby, I take it.”
“I hated it!” He felt her tension. “I haven’t forgiven him yet.”
“I don’t blame you,” Joe admitted. “I’ve never understood why someone would risk losing everything—” a woman like you “—for some kind of momentary thrill.”
“It was what he did to the kids.” Her eyes appealed to him for understanding.
“Tell me about them.”
She did, while Joe had three bowls of soup and more slabs of bread than he wanted to count. The woman was not only beautiful, she could cook. And he’d better quit thinking this way.
Mark, he heard, was almost eleven, a fifth grader who’d taken the move philosophically and had already signed up for soccer.
“Boys,” she said, with an expressive shrug. “They always seem to play in mobs and accept one more kid without question. Girls, now…”
Her fifteen-year-old, whom Joe had seen over Teresa’s shoulder last week, was another story. When he asked about her, an odd expression crossed her face, half amusement, half exasperation.
“She had friends—although I didn’t like them very much. Moving is a lot harder at her age. I just wish she’d try.”
“With her looks, she won’t have any trouble getting dates.”
“Thank you.” Teresa flashed him a grateful smile. “She is pretty, isn’t she?”
“Looks a lot like her mother.”
A shadow crossed Teresa’s face. “I don’t know if that’s a blessing or a curse.”
He heard a car out in the driveway and assumed his men were back, but she didn’t seem to notice. “Because you have trouble being taken seriously?” he asked.
“Uh-huh.” Her faraway expression faded and she jumped to her feet. “Listen to me. And I tell my kids not to whine. Will you have some apple pie, Joe?”
He ran an internal check and decided he could squeeze in a slice.
While she cut it, she chattered some more. “We have four cats and the two dogs—you’ve met them. Most vets have even more animals than that. It’s an occupational hazard. I keep encountering ones that need homes. At least they’re happy here.” She set two plates of pie on the table.
“From our own trees,” she said with satisfaction, lifting a forkful to her mouth. “This is the life.”
For how long? he wondered. About as long as he’d interest her? Or was he misjudging her?
If he was smart, he wouldn’t bother finding out. But he’d never been accused of belonging in any program for the intellectually gifted, now had he? He told himself he’d hurt her feelings if he didn’t ask her out. They’d made too many spoken and unspoken acknowledgments to each other for him to drop it here.
He insisted on carrying his dishes to the sink. There, he turned to face her. “Any chance you’d have dinner with me Friday night?” he asked casually enough that she wouldn’t feel pressured if he was reading her wrong.
She smiled saucily. “I’d say there’s a chance.”
“You remind me of my sister,” he said without thinking.
“Jess?”
“No, the other one. Rebecca.”
“Looks? Or because we’re both mouthy?”
He hesitated a little too long. Sooner or later she’d meet Rebecca and discover they didn’t look anything alike. Sure enough, it was the smart mouths they had in common.
Apparently unoffended, Teresa laughed. “I’ll look forward to meeting her. Tell me her husband is a dairy farmer.”
“Nope. Owns a string of rental stores.”
“I’ve been in the one here in town. His?”
“Mmm.”
“Is there any pie your family doesn’t have its finger in?”
“Not many,” Joe admitted. “My brother, Lee, owns an auto-body repair place on Third. Rebecca sells wallpaper and blinds out of Browder’s Flooring. Jess—but you know her. Her firm cleans the veterinary clinic, as I recall. Our father sold insurance until his heart attack a few years back.”
“You must have a heck of a grapevine.”
He
