“So, what’s this news you have for me?”

Jason smiled. “What, you can’t read my mind?”

“Oh, so you want to play? Reading minds isn’t really one of my talents, but I’m willing to give it a try if you’re willing to chance it.”

Desire lit up his eyes. Jason took a step forward, the warrior in him not afraid of the dare in her posture.

Skin touched skin. And pow. Cherry felt his heat, his muscles coil as he braced his body, then the scent of him. Her lips against his cheek, the softness of skin, the harshness of bristles.

The reality of love.

Her system absorbed the shock even as her mind opened and her senses flared. Cherry knew, just knew, in that moment that this man, this near stranger, was her soul mate.

Fear and denial rose up fast and hard.

Oh, no. No. No! She turned and ran, not caring who saw or what impression she left behind her. She was running for her life.

Dear Reader,

Working with talented writers is one of the most rewarding aspects of my job. And I’m especially pleased with this month’s lineup because these four authors capture the essence of Silhouette Romance. In their skillful hands, you’ll literally feel as if you’re riding a roller coaster as you experience all the trials and tribulations of true love.

Start off your adventure with Judy Christenberry’s The Texan’s Reluctant Bride (#1778). Part of the author’s new LONE STAR BRIDES miniseries, a career woman discovers what she’s been missing when Mr. Wrong starts looking an awful lot like Mr. Right. Patricia Thayer continues her LOVE AT THE GOODTIME CAFÉ with Familiar Adversaries (#1779). In this reunion romance, the hero and heroine come from feuding families, but they’re about to find out there really is just a thin line separating hate from love! Stop by the BLOSSOM COUNTY FAIR this month for Teresa Carpenter’s Flirting with Fireworks (#1780). Just don’t get burned by the sparks that fly when a fortune-teller’s love transforms a single dad. Finally, Shirley Jump rounds out the month with The Marine’s Kiss (#1781). When a marine wounded in Afghanistan returns home, he winds up helping a schoolteacher restore order to her classroom…but finds her wreaking havoc to his heart!

And be sure to watch for more great romances next month when Judy Christenberry and Susan Meier continue their miniseries.

Happy reading,

Ann Leslie Tuttle

Associate Senior Editor

Flirting with Fireworks
Blossom County Fair
Teresa Carpenter

www.millsandboon.co.uk

To Chris, Judy and Jill. Thanks for sharing my vision.

To Mom and Bud, for supporting my dream from the very beginning.

And to the Wednesday night critique group, including Terry Blain who answered my last-minute call for help.

You ladies are the greatest.

Books by Teresa Carpenter

Silhouette Romance

Daddy’s Little Memento #1716

Flirting with Fireworks #1780

Silhouette Special Edition

The Baby Due Date #1260

TERESA CARPENTER

is a fifth-generation Californian who currently lives amid the chaos of her family in San Diego. She loves living there because she can travel for thirty minutes and be either in the mountains or at the beach. She began her love affair with romances in the seventh grade when she talked her mother into buying her a category romance; she and romance have been together ever since.

Teresa has worked in the banking and mortgage industry for fifteen years. When not working or writing, she likes to spend time with her nieces and nephew, go to the movies and read. A member of RWA/San Diego, she has participated on the chapter board in numerous positions, including president, VP Programs, newsletter editor and conference coordinator. She is especially proud of having received the chapter’s prestigious Barbara Faith award.

THE BLOSSOM BEE
The Buzz About Town by Harriet Hearsay

The carnies are coming! The carnies are coming!

Have you chosen your side in the biggest controversy to hit Blossom since the feud over whose mutt impregnated Minnie Dressler’s miniature poodle, Poopsie? Mayor Jason Strong has confirmed the carnival will be in the fair this year. But don’t you know the good mayor wants no chance of a repeat of the Swindle? So if you’re wanting to know if there’s a love interest coming into your life, flip to the astrology page, because there will be no fortune-teller at the fair this year!

Contents

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Prologue

Cherry Cooper leaned into the curve, taking it low and tight. Hot wind whipped past her as she opened her cycle up on the straightaway and throttled down. She loved the power and speed, loved that both were under her control.

She savored the moment in a world suddenly out of sync. Especially as every mile under her tires brought her closer to Blossom City, Texas.

A sense of unease caused her to slow down as she approached the outskirts of the city. Being psychic, Cherry paid attention to her senses.

She looked inward to determine if the feeling had to do with the city or her emotions in eventually losing her grandmother to this place.

Crossing the city limits marker, she had her answer.

A gray pall loomed over the city, a sense of sadness, as if the spirit of the city suffered from a festering wound.

More than that, bad times were coming to town.

Not a good omen since in little more than a month she’d be part of a carnival troupe coming into town for a four-week-long stint at the county fair. Cherry believed in omens.

She concentrated on the feeling, but it remained vague, out of reach. Which meant the trouble would touch her life.

Great. More trouble to deal with.

She already had her grandmother’s health to worry over. Nona suffered from arthritis and recovery from her recent hip surgery had been slow and plagued with complications. Her traveling days were definitely over. She’d chosen Blossom City as the place she wanted to settle.

All Cherry knew about Blossom City was that her mother had died here. Cherry had been five days old when her grandmother bundled her up and took her on the road. It had been just the two of them ever since.

Whatever it took, Cherry would find a home for Nona. Her grandmother had dedicated her life to taking care of Cherry. Now it was her turn to take care of Nona.

With another surgery scheduled for the end of the week, in Lubbock, Texas, Cherry wanted to take her grandmother something positive to focus on. Something to represent her potential home in Blossom City—flyers, the classifieds, whatever she found.

Cherry added another goal to her list: to see if the city was worthy of Nona.

Cherry followed the signs to City Hall, right to the heart of the city. The bank and professional offices, along with the city and county buildings, ringed City Hall Park, an oasis of grass, flowers and a romantic gazebo. A beauty parlor, a dress shop, a hardware store and The BeeHive Diner were also in view.

Here the pall shifted, lifted. Goodness and joy pushed the heaviness away. The promise of a good life bloomed here, along with the purple pansies, yellow roses and pretty daisies.

For the first time since entering the city limits, Cherry smiled. Yes, Nona could happily live here.

Yes, this city had suffered, but it was regrouping and regrowing. She had the sudden clear image of a stronger, more united Blossom City.

But that was the future.

Chapter One

One month later

Jason Strong followed a Harley Sportster into City Hall’s parking lot. He spared a thought for the biker’s business and hoped he was only passing through town.

With the fair coming to town early next week, the last thing Jason needed was to worry about a biker invasion as well. Of course, there could be an upside. If the Committee for Moral Behavior caught sight of the slim figure in black leather, the biker might distract committee members from their objections to the carnival troupe arriving soon.

Jason grabbed his briefcase and climbed from his car. The biker set the bike stands, then swung a long, leather-clad leg over the seat to stand next to the Harley. Struck by the way the biker moved, by the lithe grace and slight stature, Jason wasn’t really surprised when the helmet came off to reveal a head of dark brown, corkscrew curls and a delicate profile.

Taking in the willowy figure, the in-your-face leather, the hint of red in the wild curls, he had the sinking feeling his peaceful existence teetered on a fault line. A fear that was confirmed when the exotic stranger turned and nailed him with eyes black as the leather covering her every curve. The impact of her perusal ran like a hand over his body until she broke contact to speak to a woman entering the building.

He let out a hissing breath. No doubt about it. Trouble had come to town on a Harley.

Hopefully she wouldn’t be staying long.

Life had fallen into a predictable pattern for Jason. Just how he wanted it. His daughter, his family, his town were all happy and healthy.

For the most part.

Okay, so his daughter was growing up without her mother, his mother was running away from her responsibilities and the town was still recuperating from economical shock. The point was, they were all doing fine. And, with time, would do better.

With that comforting thought, he turned his back on the tempting vision in black and headed for the familiar ground of his office.

Ten minutes later, his secretary buzzed him, “Jason, do you have a few minutes for Lady Pandora?”

Lady Pandora? He nearly groaned aloud. This was worse than he thought. What were the chances of two exotic strangers visiting City Hall today?

“Send her in.”

He rose from behind his mahogany desk as his secretary escorted the leather-clad Lady Pandora into his office.

She was more beautiful than he’d at first thought. Dark curls framed delicate features highlighted by high cheekbones, barely arched brows and shiny pink, lushly full lips. Up close, he corrected his previous assumption. Her eyes weren’t black; they were a decadent dark chocolate. And they snapped with challenge.

“Ms. Pandora.” He held out his hand and received her gloved one in response.

She returned his firm grip briefly before taking a step back and gracefully sinking into one of the chairs fronting his desk. She peeled off her gloves and pulled the zipper down on her jacket revealing black lace underneath.

He resumed his seat, surreptitiously wiping the sweat from his palms. “What can I do for you?”

“You can allow me my rightful place in the fair,” she stated in clear terms, her voice soft yet assertive.

“What place might that be?”As if he couldn’t guess. Lady Pandora, right. More like Lady Charlatan. Jason scowled, disappointed that this lovely, exotic creature was most likely a parasite of the worst kind. She had to be the fortune-teller he’d banned from this year’s fair.

In his experience, fortune-tellers were frauds who preyed on the innocent and unsuspecting, dealing out false hope and bad advice. And that’s when they weren’t outright cheating the gullible public out of hard-earned savings.

“I’m sure you’re aware the city has chosen not to have a fortune-teller at the fair this year, Ms. Pandora.”

“Call me Ms. Cooper. Lady Pandora is my professional name. As you’ve guessed, I’m a teller of fortunes. You disapprove, though I believe you judge us too harshly. There are the unscrupulous in every vocation, that doesn’t mean all are frauds and parasites.” Her brown eyes met his; hers were rounded in exaggerated innocence. “It may surprise you to learn, Mr. Mayor, that politicians are often thought to lack integrity and to have only their own interests at heart, taking advantage of the masses while lining their own pockets.”

Jason frowned, taking the hit directly to the gut. She’d pushed one of his hot buttons square on the head. Neither did he miss the fact that her choice of words so closely echoed his thoughts. He shook off the unease the coincidence generated. He didn’t believe in mind readers, in being able to see into the future. If she expected him to change his mind, either about his beliefs or about letting her into the fair, then she obviously wasn’t very good at her job.

“Ms. Cooper, I’m afraid you’ve wasted your time. Blossom has a bad history with fortune-tellers, which is why the ban stands.”

“I’m sorry to hear that, because I’m ready, willing and able to perform at this fair. I’m contracted with this carnival troupe, which means I can’t go to another fair and even if I could, it’s too late at this delayed date.”

She spoke softly, slowly, the cadence so serene that the words lulled and suggested on an elemental level. Jason caught himself leaning forward to catch every word. Disgusted, he shook off her seductive spell.

“I sympathize, but that’s hardly my problem.”

“It is, actually. I’d happily trot along my merry way, but I need the income from this fair. Not just for myself, but for my family. And your ban is not only insulting, you’re frustrating my purpose.”

He frowned at her use of the legal terms: ready, willing and able, frustrated purpose. Her message came through loud and clear. Ms. Cooper had obviously been talking to a lawyer.

He might be worried except he’d drawn up the contract and knew it was airtight. Which didn’t mean she couldn’t contest it if she had the time, money and inclination. Given her transient lifestyle, he doubted she’d go to the effort. Admiring the cling of leather to soft curves, he almost regretted the necessity of sending her away. But the last thing Blossom—or he—needed was the trouble she represented.

“Still not my problem, Ms. Cooper. We contracted with the carnival months ago. I made it clear at the time no fortune-teller would be allowed in the fair. You need to take your grievance up with the carnival troupe.”

“Oh,” she waved a slim-fingered hand, uncrossed impossibly long legs and flowed lithely to her feet. “I have a better idea.”

She inclined her head as if she’d heard something interesting, then focused those brown, brown eyes on him. “So you’re an attorney as well as the mayor. How fortunate the townspeople of Blossom have you to safeguard their interests. But you needn’t worry, they have nothing to fear from me.”

She smiled a serene smile that did nothing to calm him and everything to arouse his suspicions, distracting him so he almost missed her next statement. “I believe we’ll let them decide whether I should be allowed in the fair.”

He shot to his feet and met her at the door. The scents of leather and honeysuckle made an intoxicating mix, making him light-headed until he pulled himself together.

Just when had he developed such a biker babe fixation? The sooner this hot mix of trouble vacated his town, the better.

“There’s nothing to decide, Lady Pandora. I regret there’s no place for you in Blossom.”

She sauntered through the doorway, hips swaying provocatively before turning to deliver the last word. “Oh, no need for regret.” This time her smile was pure challenge. “An apology at the end of the fair will do. You don’t have a problem admitting when you’re wrong do you, Your Honor?” She snapped to attention and offered a mock salute. “Or should I say, General, sir?”

“What?” Shock rocked him back on his heels. How could she possibly know his childhood nickname? His grandfather had called Jason Little General when he was a tiny kid.

“The contract may not be as airtight as you think.” She taunted him. “You were distracted remember? Someone didn’t feel well.”

Rikki. His daughter had had the flu. How could Lady Pandora know that? Before he pulled himself together enough to ask, she escaped out the door.

He stabbed his secretary’s call button.

“Yes, sir?”

“Get me Sheriff McCabe on the line. I want to know everything there is to know about Lady Pandora.”

“Oh, wasn’t she just wonderful, Jason?” his secretary practically gushed. “So helpful. She told me where to find the diagram for the new addition to the library. You know, the one I’ve been looking for for two days. She told me it had slipped behind the copier and, sure enough, that’s right where it was. Isn’t that amazing?”

Jason gritted his teeth. “Just get me the sheriff, please.”

Cherry Cooper, Lady Pandora to His Honor Mayor Jason Strong, grinned as she rode down in the elevator. Oh, the look on his face when she called him General. As the MasterCard commercial said: Priceless.

She bet not many people saw shock reflected in those intelligent blue eyes, on those chiseled features. With his bold cheekbones she suspected he had warrior blood in his history. Indian, Celt, Viking, she couldn’t narrow it down, but she sensed he came from a long line of fighters.

He didn’t shake easily; she’d give him his due there. Still, she’d rattled him a tad. More bluff than anything else. Body language and ego gave away a lot. Years of experience had taught her how to read a person almost as well as her psychic talent.

She already knew the good mayor was going to be a problem.

Not only because he refused to change his mind and let her into the fair, but because he made her palms itch.

Definitely not a good sign.

She’d known a month ago when she first visited Blossom that trouble would touch her here. Still, she hadn’t counted on the distraction of a maverick in a suit.

How she wished she could hop on her bike and roll on down the road.

But her grandmother’s health came first. The latest surgery had been successful, but her traveling days were over.

Wry humor tugged at Cherry’s funny bone. It didn’t take psychic powers to know the hunky mayor would not be happy to learn two fortune-tellers would soon be moving to his town.

Strolling out of City Hall into the Texas sunlight, Cherry slipped on her sunglasses and surveyed the picket-fence charm of Blossom’s town square. She felt right at home with her black leather gear and bad girl Harley.

Yeah, right, as at home as a frog in a French chef’s kitchen.

Who was she kidding? The good mayor was right; no matter how much she longed for a home, this wasn’t the place for her.

No, her place was on the road, moving from town to town, fair to fair, bringing in the income.

But first she needed to secure her place in the Blossom County Fair. She and Nona had been pre-approved for a home loan, but one of the conditions was proof of six months of payment reserves in the bank at the time of closing. They’d saved over the years so they had enough for the down payment, but Nona’s medical expenses had taken a chunk of their savings. In order to meet the loan condition, Cherry needed to get into the fair.

To do that, she needed the good people of Blossom on her side.

A woman jostled Cherry as she rushed down the City Hall steps. Cherry stared after the thin brunette, disturbed by the ominous shiver that followed in her wake.

Cherry’s ability to see the future came mostly through touch. When she performed, she used tarot cards. Occasionally, if she felt the need to do a deeper reading, she’d use the guise of reading the client’s palm, and then she buffered the contact with a scarf.

The contact with the rude woman reminded Cherry of the gray pall she’d felt when she first came to town. Shaking off the feeling of oppression, she cleansed her mind. Deciding to dive in at the deep end, she headed for The BeeHive Diner by way of the park.

She had an agenda to keep and it didn’t include solving the town’s dark problems. That was something for the good mayor to do.

The yellow-and-brown color scheme and honeybee mural were charmingly cheerful. After placing her order, Cherry pulled out her cell phone and dialed her grandmother.

“Hey, Nona. You sound breathless, you’re not doing anything you shouldn’t are you?”

“What, and break a sweat? Where’s the fun in that?” Nona responded.

A low male rumble sounded in the background.

“Oh, hush. I’m talking to my granddaughter,” Nona’s muffled voice admonished, then she spoke back into the phone. “I do everything my physical therapist tells me to do.”

Again the rumble, which Nona ignored except for a giggle. A giggle!

“Enough about me. Did you reach Blossom? What did the mayor say?”

The mayor—dark hair, gray-blue eyes, wide shoulders, hard attitude.

“Not a sympathetic man, the mayor. Mostly he said he wouldn’t change his mind, that the ban existed because the townspeople had been hurt by a fortune-teller in the past.”

“That doesn’t sound good.”

“I did some research. Two years ago, a fortune-teller was on the take with a con man running a real estate scam. The fortune-teller planted the seed by telling people they would soon see a good investment, then a couple of weeks after the fair, a man breezed into town, the supposed representative of a development company ready to build a resort in the area. People lined up to buy. Next thing they knew, the fortune-teller was long gone, the resort didn’t exist, and the man had disappeared along with half a million dollars of the good citizens’ money.”

“Charlatan.” The lash of fury in Nona’s voice traveled clearly down the line. She detested frauds. “And now we have to pay for her deceit.”

“Unfortunately. But we can’t really blame the people of Blossom for not wanting a repeat performance. Last year, they didn’t have a fair at all.”

“Well, now. That’s just a shame. Those charlatans stole more than the town’s money, they stole their spirit.”

Nona truly believed in the positive energy to be had at the fair. Family values and young love, goodness and joy, all wrapped up in popcorn, cotton candy and hot summer nights were what made up the fair.

Cherry believed, too, but she also knew frauds existed, people spent what they couldn’t afford and life wasn’t always fair. Even at the fair.

“Don’t worry,” she reassured her grandmother. “I’m not giving up.”

“What do you have planned?”

“A few innocent parlor tricks, is all. The people of Blossom may have been burnt, but curiosity will bring them back every time.”

“There’s something more, isn’t there? Something in your voice—” Nona suddenly switched gears. “You’ve met someone haven’t you? A man.”

Cherry grimaced. She’d hoped to finish the conversation before it headed in this direction.

“Nona, didn’t we have this talk when I was eighteen? I want to form my own opinion about the men I meet.”

“We didn’t have this talk. This isn’t about the big bad wolf. We’re talking Prince Charming here.”

Oh, please. Cherry barely kept from saying the words out loud. Jason Strong might look like a prince, but charming he was not.

“Believe me, we are not talking Prince Charming. Take care of yourself, Nona. I’ll call after I’ve been to the Realtor.”

Nona hung up the phone, her thoughts still with her granddaughter until a voice broke into her musings.

“You were talking about men, right? With your granddaughter?” Tom Baxter asked. An ex-cop with broad shoulders and lots of pewter-colored hair, he was here recuperating from a blown-out knee. “I understand the reference to the Big Bad Wolf, but what does Prince Charming mean in this day and age?”

The big Texan’s attention flustered Nona. Lord, she hadn’t felt so nervous around a man since her Grant first courted her a million years ago. Sweet Grant, he’d been her Prince Charming. She’d known the first time he touched her he was her soul mate. They’d had twenty wonderful years together before she lost him to a heart attack. Now she was seventy-one and could barely walk across the room. She certainly had nothing to offer this Big Bad Wolf.

Still, she answered his question about Prince Charming. “It means her one true love.”

Chapter Two

Leaving the BeeHive, Blossom pushed open the door and came face-to-face with Jason Strong.

“Lady Pandora.” He held the door for her. “Still in town?”

“Mr. Mayor.” She pasted a smile on her face; not all that hard to do when he was such an almighty joy to look at. She stepped past him onto the sidewalk. “Of course. I don’t plan on going anywhere. I have a date with the fair in a few days.”

His light blue eyes narrowed. “You shouldn’t get your hopes up. I won’t change my mind. Too many people stand to get hurt if I do.”

Cherry just smiled more brightly; because he honestly didn’t know the insult he’d dealt her. “I’m very careful not to hurt people. When you have a talent such as I have, you learn early that it comes with a responsibility to shield people from the answers they’re so eager to hear.”

“Very honorable of you. Except you’re wasting your time. I don’t believe in your special talents.” He broke off to greet two ladies exiting the diner. “Mrs. White, Mrs. Davis, good afternoon.”

The women were complete opposites one, tall, thin, and dark; the other, short, sturdy, and silver. They greeted their mayor, then turned twin looks of interest in Cherry’s direction.

Unaffected, she met their stares. “Afternoon. Wasn’t the apple cobbler exceptional?”

Brilliant smiles broke over their faces. The taller of the women rolled her eyes and patted her chest. “My, yes. The cobbler was delicious today.”

“Excellent, just excellent,” her companion voiced her opinion. “Just a tad too much cinnamon.”

“Oh Mary Ellen, everything always has too much cinnamon for you.”

“Well, I don’t care for a lot of cinnamon.” The two women moved on down the street, discussing the merits of spice versus flavoring.

Enjoying their good-natured squabbling, Cherry didn’t notice the mayor’s eyes had narrowed again until he stepped in front of her.

Her humor disappeared. “Oh, please. You think that was a demonstration? That was nothing, I saw them eating the cobbler. It looked good, so I ordered some. You want a demonstration, talk to your secretary. Did she find the document she was looking for? It had something to do with a city building.” She cocked her head, seeing by the look on his face that his secretary had indeed found the missing papers. “The library, I think.”

Oh yeah, that nailed it. That had him thinking. Emboldened, she invaded his space and lowered her voice to a husky drawl.

“I can do even better than that.”

Careful not to touch him—that would be too daring—she reached for his tie. Savoring the feel of silk warm from the heat of his body, she slid the soft fabric through her fingers. A low-volume buzz tingled through her.

Hmm. That had never happened before.

Her eyes on his, she opened her senses the tiniest bit. It didn’t take much to connect with his energy; to align with his nagging need to find a specific item.

One of the fastest ways to convert nonbelievers was to help them find something. It was personal and almost everyone had something they were looking for at any given time. The nagging factor also helped. Easier to pick up something that was close to the surface of someone’s mind.

In Jason Strong’s mind, she saw a ring. A wedding ring.

The mayor was married. Something inside her flinched at the revelation. But no. He had been married. A widower, then. Because the sorrow she saw in his eyes spoke of death.

Emotions bombarded her: loss, grief, sadness, anger, loneliness. Desire. Guilt. And an absolute resolve to keep her from the fair.

She dropped his tie and stepped back. Too much, too fast, too personal. And way too close for comfort. She’d seen way more than she usually allowed herself. Out of respect for him and self-defense for herself, she put even more distance between them.

“I’m sorry for your loss,” she said softly.

His head went back in surprise and a frown slammed his eyebrows together. “What?”

She’d blocked his emotions, but hers were all over the place as well. Focusing on compassion, she shook her head and simply repeated, “I’m sorry.” Then, because it would give him peace, she added. “You’ll find what you’re looking for under the nightstand beside your bed. The one on the right, by the back left leg.”

Knowing she’d said more than enough, she turned and walked away.

“I want that woman gone.” Jason slid into the gold-and-brown booth across from Sheriff Trace McCabe inside the BeeHive. Brown-haired, hazel-eyed, Trace had the look of the boy next door with a military edge. He had two traits Jason wanted in his sheriff—calm in a crisis and the perseverance of a bulldog. “What did you find?”

The younger man reached for his coffee, then nodded toward the door Jason had just come through. “That her?”

“Yeah.” Feeling exposed after his run-in with the troublesome gypsy, Jason averted his gaze to the window overlooking City Hall Park. His gaze fell on the gazebo and he made a mental note to check with Parks and Recreations on the search for the fair banner. With the fair due to start in about a week, the banner should have been up a month ago.

“She seemed awfully friendly.”

Focusing on his friend, Jason nodded at the file on the table. “What did you find out about Lady Pandora?”

Trace cocked his head but allowed the evasion. “Well, for starters, her real name is Blossom Ann Cooper. Goes by Cherry. Bet she took some ribbing for that. Here’s the interesting part. She was born twenty-six years ago right here in Blossom City. Her mother died from complications of childbirth. Other than that only a few nuisance offenses in her youth, they didn’t even bother to seal the record. Nothing beyond a speeding ticket in the last ten years.”

Stunned by the revelation she’d been born in Blossom, Jason said, “I saw her arrive on a Harley this morning.”

Trace shrugged. “Nothing against the law in that.”

“I know. I just…She was born in Blossom? That’s a bit of a coincidence, don’t you think?” Jason didn’t like the sound of this, not one bit.

“Too much of one for my comfort, but I couldn’t find anything to indicate she’s up to anything. Her address is a P.O. box in Florida. Besides the Harley, she has a fifth-wheel trailer and a Ford truck in her name and that of Rose Cooper, her grandmother. Cherry was given into Rose’s custody after her mother died. They work the fair routes together.”

“Where’s her grandmother now?”

Trace set down his coffee. “No file on her yet. Nothing of interest, anyway. They usually travel together, so she’s probably at the last fair they worked. I’m pulling the security checks we did. This troupe has the best reputation in the country, but we’ll go back, ask specifically about the fortune-tellers.”

Jason nodded. “In the meantime, keep an eye on her, will you? Let me know if she leaves town.”

“You’ll be the first to know.” Trace cocked his index finger at Jason, a sign they’d developed ages ago indicating Jason owed Trace a beer for his efforts.

“Sheriff, Mayor, just the gentlemen I’ve been looking for.” Bitsy Dupres stopped next to their table. The pale, blond woman wore a dark gray pantsuit, appearing colorless in the cheerful honeybee-themed diner.

Bitsy still mourned her late husband. To fill her days, she’d taken on the self-appointed task of keeping Blossom’s children safe. With a few other overzealous citizens, she’d formed the Committee for Moral Behavior. A worthy cause for certain, except if left up to them, the children of Blossom would be wrapped up in cotton wool and tucked away in their rooms for safe keeping.

“Good afternoon, Bitsy,” Trace returned her greeting. “What can we do for you?”

“I wondered if you had any news for me regarding the CMB’s request to have the carnival banned from the fair this year.”

“Bitsy.” Jason reached down deep for patience. “We’ve explained that it’s too late to ban the carnival.”

“Yes. But I believe the morals of our children are more important than the few dollars involved in breaking a contract.”

“More than a few dollars. The economy can’t absorb another hit.”

“So it’s of no matter that the children will be exposed to a bad element? Everyone knows these carnival people are little better than transients and thieves. Look at what happened with poor Melissa Tolliver.”

Trace fielded that one. “It’s not like you, Bitsy, to be so judgmental. Let me reassure you this troupe is the best in the country. They may travel from town to town, but they are professionals at what they do.”

“I’m afraid that’s not good enough.” Bitsy’s shoulders went back and pink tinged her cheeks from the sheriff’s gentle rebuke. “Trouble is what they are. I can assure you, you’ll be hearing more about this from the committee.”

Tucking her gray purse into the crook of her elbow, she inclined her head. “Good day, gentleman.”

Full dark had fallen by the time Jason carried his daughter, Rikki, into the house that night. He dropped his briefcase inside the door, adjusted her slight weight against his shoulder, and carried her upstairs.

She didn’t stir once, not even when he laid her on the bed. She lay with arms sprawled, half turned on her side. If he left her like this, she’d still be in the same position when he came in to wake her tomorrow morning.

The girl had two speeds, full tilt and full stop.

He envied the first and lived for the second. Just looking at her made his heart melt, but sometimes he loved her best just like this, blessedly still and blessedly quiet.

Hard to believe she’d be three in a week.

He pulled off her shoes and socks, amazed at the dirt accumulated in both. He replaced her shirt and shorts with bunny pajamas, giving her a quick swipe with a disposable wet cloth in between—what his mother didn’t know couldn’t hurt him—then he tucked her between the sheets.

He bent to kiss her soft curls. When he rose and turned, he caught sight of the picture on the dresser.

His wife, Diane. Taken when they were on a ski trip in Colorado.

He lifted the frame, angled it so the light from the hall caught it. Her cheeks were rosy, her eyes bright with laughter, her blond hair tucked under a red-and-white knit cap. They’d still lived in Lubbock when the picture was taken, before she’d gotten pregnant.

They’d lived for the moment then, lived for each other. Those had been the best of times.

She’d been so happy to learn she was expecting Rikki. It’s what they both wanted. A family. A lifetime together. They’d moved back to Blossom City as their life plan dictated. They opened an office, he practiced law and Diane and his sister Hannah sold real estate.

Then Rikki was born. Their beautiful baby girl. A miracle. Life was good, the best ever.

Then it was over. Gone. The heart of his life destroyed by an accident. Rikki’s mother stolen from them because she was in the wrong place at the wrong time. A car crossed the median when the driver suffered a heart attack.

And suddenly Jason was alone with a one-month-old baby girl. He hadn’t had time to grieve, to mourn the loss of his wife. His life.

He’d missed Diane so much.

Still did. Or the long, lean lady in leather wouldn’t get to him so easily.

He’d handled Diane’s loss just like he’d handled every crisis in his life—by taking one day at a time, following a routine, keeping everyone close and accounted for.

So why did he have the feeling life was slipping out of his control? Maybe because his mother had run off to Europe with Aunt Stella. Or because his sister had become secretive lately. Or just because his baby was growing up.

It couldn’t be because he’d begun to chafe under his own need for control. Keeping life on track meant keeping his loved ones safe.

He set the picture down, pulled the door half-closed and made his way down the hall to his room.

He dated, more out of expedience than for romance. But the women knew the score, and he had no desire for entanglements. Especially not a sultry brunette with a talent for riling his temper. And for sticking her nose where it didn’t belong.

Just to prove her wrong, he went to the nightstand to the right of his bed, and lifted it away from the wall. Fully prepared to find nothing.

Almost hoping to find nothing.

No such luck. Gold sparkled against the dark blue carpeting.

Bending, he scooped up his wedding ring, flung in guilty rage the first night he went out with another woman and had more than dinner with her. He’d gotten over the guilt of living when Diane died. Yet losing the symbol of their love had stuck with him.

Finding the ring helped.

Being attracted to the sexy gypsy that helped him find it was another thing altogether.

Two days later, after making arrangements for Carlo Fuentes to drive her rig into Blossom when the troupe came to town in a few days, Cherry walked into the Cut N Curl.

No better place to jump into the thick of things in a small town than the local beauty parlor.

The bell over the door jingled. Orange, yellow and pink bright enough to require sunglasses greeted her along with a cheerful hello from a tiny woman with a big voice and big hair the same color as the orange seats.

“Welcome to the Cut N Curl. I’m Wanda Mae.” A blast of hairspray accompanied her words.

“Do you take walk-ins?” Cherry asked. As she’d hoped, the place was packed with women in the process of beautifying themselves.

“Well, of course we do. Hang on just a sec.”

Cherry took a seat and absorbed the scene. Besides Wanda Mae, two other women worked on hair while another three did nails. A posted sign advertised everything from waxing to tattooing.

Tattooing? My, my, weren’t they progressive in Blossom?

Wanda Mae whipped the protective cover from the lap of her customer, an older woman with decidedly pink hair piled into a helmet of curls. “All done, Miss Ellie. You’re all set to turn Big Al’s eye at bingo tonight.”

The woman had to be close to eighty, yet she twittered like a teenager. “Do you have any of that peppermint pink lipstick? Peppermint pink drives Big Al wild.”

“’Course we do.” Wanda Mae rang up the order, then sent Miss Ellie on her way with a few wise words. “You practice safe sex, you hear?”

Progressive indeed.

Cherry bit back a grin and put in her request for a pedicure. Wanda Mae warned Cherry there was a wait, then directed her to a massage chair with a basin at the foot.

She didn’t mind waiting. It gave her a chance to observe and get acquainted. Smiling easily, she introduced herself as Lady Pandora to the woman next to her. Minnie Dressler, plump and past sixty, wore her gray hair held back by barrettes. They chatted, Cherry making sure to mention how sad she was not to be performing at the fair.

Then she sat back and opened a magazine. Sneaking a glance over the top every once in a while.

She saw suspicion, she’d expected that, but she also saw curiosity and interest in the glances sent her way.

Twenty minutes later, the whispers about her had faded away. The door opened, the bell jingled and a very pregnant blonde with a cranky toddler in tow entered the shop.

The women went into full cluck mode.

The expectant mama, Tammy, received a rush of attention. The crying baby plucked from her arms, she was helped into a seat, her feet lifted.

The toddler calmed down under the immediate barrage of attentiveness, but after being passed from woman to woman his mood began to suffer.

Cherry’s heart went out to little Jimmy. Within the troupe, she was known to have a talent for healing, for having a special touch with babies.

Some day she hoped to have a career as a midwife. She hadn’t spoken of that particular dream in a while. It upset Nona to think Cherry hesitated because of her. In truth Nona was only part of the problem. Cowardice accounted for the other part.

Cherry preferred not to dwell on either.

She longed to cuddle Jimmy, to ease his distress, but felt that would be pressing her luck.

He had other ideas. He looked at Cherry from the lap of her neighbor, his brown eyes dewy with tears. She smiled at him, and he slid down to stand in front of Cherry.

“Hello, Jimmy.” He had fine blond hair and couldn’t be more than eighteen months old. She leaned forward. “My name is Cherry.”

He tugged a lock of her hair. “Pretty.”

“Thank you.” She carefully removed her hair from his chubby little fist.

“Up.” Jimmy held his arms up.

Cherry’s heart melted. She met his mother’s gaze. “May I?” she asked. “I’m good with kids, and I’d like to help.”

Tammy studied her for a moment, then nodded.

Smiling gently, Cherry lifted the boy into her lap. He immediately went exploring. He pulled her earrings, fiddled with her watch and the crystals in her bracelet. She did enjoy her baubles.

Eventually, he laid his head on her shoulder and fell asleep.

“Poor little tyke, he’s tuckered out.” Wanda Mae started the water in the whirlpool. “Do you want the massage? I recommend level three.” She winked. “We call it the Erogenous Zone.”

Mmm. Sounded tempting. Her erogenous zones could certainly use some attention. Now why did that bring to mind the dark hair and blue-gray eyes of Jason Strong?

“I’d better not. It might disturb Jimmy.”

“Oh, Miss Pandora.” Tammy pushed to her feet. “You need to do the massage. I’ll take Jimmy.” She arched her back.

She stood close and Cherry felt her tension, her exhaustion, her pain. More, Cherry felt the baby’s readiness to be born. Tomorrow morning, Tammy would be holding her little girl in her arms.

Tammy reached for Jimmy. “I’m just glad he got a bit of a nap.”

Cherry waved her away. “He’s fine. Let him sleep. Have a manicure. It’ll be a while before you get another chance.”

Both Tammy and Wanda Mae gave Cherry odd looks.

She simply smiled serenely. “Trust me, when it comes to predicting births, I’m never wrong.”

Not at this anyway. She always knew when an expectant mother would deliver. Even as she appreciated the gift, she recognized the cosmic joke. She’d lost her mother because she’d gone into labor in the middle of nowhere. Cherry had not come easily into the world. By the time they got her mother to Blossom, it was too late to save her.

Yet her daughter had the talent to make sure the same thing never happened to anyone she knew.

To Tammy, Cherry said, “You’d better pack your suitcase when you get home because you’re going into the hospital tonight.”

The announcement shook the rafters. Everyone started talking at once. “Cherry, you need to ante up for the baby pool,” someone suggested.

“What’s the pool up to?” Cherry didn’t believe in using her talents to gamble, but if she won, the word of mouth would really help her cause.

“Two hundred twenty-two dollars. It’s two dollars a guess. Tammy knows it’s another boy, so you just need to guess the date, time, weight and height.”

Another boy? Cherry ruminated on that for a moment, but no, it didn’t feel right.

Thirty minutes later, Cherry logged in her official guess: tomorrow at 6:58 in the morning, Tammy would give birth to a seven-pound, two-ounce, nineteen-inch baby girl.

Word spread all over town. The fortune-teller instigated an uprising over at the Cut N Curl. Seems she’d thumbed her nose at modern medicine by predicting Tammy Wright would have a girl when the doctor said she’d be having a boy.

Cherry had said she’d take her case to the people; now Jason knew what she meant. She sure had a talent for making a big splash. And for making his life miserable.

He needed to put a stop to this now.

He found her at the Dairy Dream, an ice cream and burger joint with a blue-and-silver, moon-and-stars theme. Rikki particularly liked the glow in the dark stars on the navy ceiling.

Cherry sat tucked up in a booth in the corner. She read a book, a romance by the look of the cover. She wore blue jeans and a white, off-the-shoulder peasant shirt. Her waves of dark curls were subdued into a loose braid.

Little fool, didn’t she understand she risked the people turning on her? Courtesy of the Swindle, he’d dealt with angry crowds more than once. The thought of Cherry facing down a mob turned his blood cold. She might act tough, but he could span her waist with his hands and her long, slim neck, enticingly revealed by the wide-necked shirt, had a decidedly delicate look to it.

He slid in across from her, stretching his long legs in front of him. She glanced from the page to him. Immediately, pleasure lit up her eyes and she flashed him a smile.

Whoa Nellie. He took the impact right in the gut. God she was beautiful.

In the next instant, she returned her attention to her book, carefully marking her place and setting it on the banquette next to her. She shifted in her seat, pulling her legs up to sit Indian fashion. When she looked up again, the intensity of her welcome had dimmed. Those lovely dark chocolate eyes were once more guarded and her smile held a rueful edge.

“Good evening, Mayor.” She pushed her fries toward him. “You look like you need something to gnaw on. Have a fry.”

“I’m not here to chew you out.” He reached for a golden fry dusted with crystals of salt. He grunted. Nobody did burgers and fries better than the Dairy Dream. “Hey, Stan,” he hollered over the noise of the patrons, “bring me a burger to go with these fries.”

Stan, the owner, waved an acknowledgement. Jason pulled his wallet out and set a five on the table. He helped himself to another fry.

“Well, you’ve been busy.”

She shrugged and the sleeve slipped lower on her shoulder exposing creamy skin. He tried not to look, not to be tempted. Not to want her.

He had his daughter, his mom and his sister to care for and keep him company, and the town to keep him busy. That’s all he needed, all he could handle.

His boring life suited him fine. In fact, he’d worked hard to achieve boring. Losing his wife had been brutal, facing each new morning alone was difficult, raising his daughter alone was hard. So yeah, he savored his peace.

Giving in to his attraction for this woman threatened the balance he’d fought so hard to achieve.

He dragged his gaze back to Cherry’s face and his mind back to the matter at hand.

“You’re causing an uproar in my town, Ms. Cooper.”

“Since we’re getting to be so cozy—” she reached for a fry, dipped it in ketchup, then bit it in half “—call me Cherry.”

“Cherry. That’s an unusual name. Especially since I know your real name is Blossom.”

She cleared her throat. “My mom named me after the city I was born in so I could always find my way back to her. She died giving birth to me here in Blossom City. I had red hair when I was born. My grandmother called me Cherry Blossom. The Cherry stuck.”

“Okay, Cherry.” The pleasure the small intimacy gave him was probably not a good thing. “You’re causing an uproar in my town.”

She smiled and pointed a fry at him. “You have the power to change that.”

“You’re playing with fire. These people have been hurt. There’s no telling how they’re going to react to your shenanigans.”

“What’s wrong, Mayor—”

“Jason.” He interrupted. “Call me Jason.”

“Jason.” She inclined her head in acknowledgement. “What’s wrong? Are you afraid I’m going to prove myself?”

“I’m afraid you’re going to get hurt.” The truth in his statement surprised him. When exactly had he moved over to her side? No, that wasn’t right. He wasn’t taking sides. He was keeping the peace.

“What happens when you don’t win the baby pool? You’re going to be seen as a fool. Worse, people are going to be reminded of the Swindle and they’re going to take their anger out on you.”

“That’s not a problem. I’m going to win the baby pool.”

He thought of his wedding ring, found under the nightstand on the right of his bed just as she’d said. Maybe she could win the pool. “Winning may be worse for you than losing. Then it’ll be another fortune-teller taking their money again. You can’t win.”

A teenager with an unfortunate case of acne brought over Jason’s burger. The boy scooped up Jason’s five.

“Keep the change, Johnny.”

The boy grinned and snapped the five taut. “Thanks, Mayor.”

Cherry waited until the boy left them alone before claiming, “I know what I’m doing.”

“Are you sure? Have you ever dealt with a mob? It’s not pretty.”

Totally calm, she responded, “That won’t happen.”

“You don’t know that.” He bit into his burger.

She simply gazed at him from those fabulous, knowing eyes. He gritted his teeth in frustration. He didn’t have to be psychic to know he wasn’t getting through to her.

“Where’s your grandmother? She usually travels with you doesn’t she?”

Surprise followed by wariness flashed across her fine-boned features. “She does, yes.”

He waited, but she didn’t elaborate. “Will she be joining you soon?”

“No.”

Again, nothing followed. “You know for a woman who makes her living talking with people, you aren’t very forthcoming.”

She leaned forward, her forearms bracketing the cooling plate of fries, her eyes intent. “Do you want your fortune told, Jason?”

Did she think to intimidate him? He leaned toward her, his arms framing hers. “Is that the only way you allow someone to get close? By reading them?”

She held her position, though he saw it cost her. “I don’t get close to those I read. It gets in the way of my sight.”

“So who do you get close to?” Now why did he ask that? Hadn’t he just lectured himself on the need for objectivity around this stunning gypsy? “You don’t have to answer that.”

She shrugged one nearly bare shoulder, then casually retreated back into her seat. “My friends are the carnies we travel with.”

It couldn’t be more clear where her loyalties lay. “So it’s all an act when you’re making nice and getting buddy-buddy with the townspeople? Just a means to the end? It all comes down to the money, doesn’t it? And you wonder why I don’t want you in the fair?”

“I don’t wonder at all.” She grabbed her book and purse and scooted to the edge of the bench seat. “It’s obvious you’ve made up your mind about me. Well, I won’t apologize for my profession. Yes, I take money, for a service. And people get their money’s worth.” She rose to stand next to the table.

“I’m not going to go away, Jason. And if you refuse to let me in the fair, you’d better be prepared for the consequences.”

She turned on her heel, but he reached out and caught her sleeve stopping her. “What’s that mean?”

“It means there’s a shop for rent on Main Street.” Pulling free, she wove her way to the door and disappeared into the darkness outside.

Oh Lord, he was in trouble. Not because she’d threatened to open up a business in his town, but because, God, he did admire gutsy women.

Chapter Three

Cherry discreetly checked her watch. Still plenty of time. She had an appointment with the realtor in thirty minutes. She’d left her motel early to stop by the BeeHive for breakfast, then walk through the park.

She’d won the baby pool yesterday, and what good was there in stirring up the waters if you weren’t out swirling them in the direction you wanted them to go?

“Ladies, thank you so much for your support. Make sure to tell Mayor Strong how you feel, and I’ll save you an appointment at the fair.” She waved her goodbyes to Mrs. White and Mrs. Davis and strolled for the corner that gave access to Cypress Street.

The pretty day added to her joy in the morning. Blue skies, the scent of fresh-cut grass on the air, and a breeze playful enough to lift the hem of her navy-and-turquoise paisley skirt made her think of home.

An odd reaction, when the only home she’d ever known had four wheels and an awning. Maybe she was enjoying these days in Blossom City a little too much. The place, the people, they were getting to her when she knew better than to let herself care.

“Missy. Yeah, Missy, over here.” An age-roughened voice hailed Cherry from a few feet away.

She followed the sound and found two elderly men in overalls and plaid shirts seated on a bench at the edge of the park. Both men had gray hair, though one had more than the other. But then he had more of a paunch, too. Each claimed an end of the bench with a two-foot space separating them. On the sidewalk exactly half way between them sat a tobacco-stained coffee can.

As she neared them, she saw the biggest similarity was the twin sparks of deviltry deep in their eyes. These two had seen a bit of trouble in their day. And caused a little, too.

“You’re the carnival gal, yeah?” The taller of the two waved her closer. “The fortune-teller? We want our fortunes told. I’m Dutch, that there’s Buster.”

Hands on her hips, she assessed the two characters. If she gave them half a chance, they’d have her running in circles. “Sure. I predict, a new coffee can in your future.”

“Huh. No news there.” Buster revealed his skepticism. “Bea over to the BeeHive gives us a new can once a week.”

“Now hold on. No way she knew that. Seems to me we got the real deal here.” Dutch rubbed his hands together. “Go on, do your thing.”

Cherry hid her amusement. “Gentlemen, exactly what do you want to know?”

Both men looked to the left, then to the right.

“There’s a conspiracy to get us moved off our bench. Damn Moral Misfits,” Dutch whispered loudly. “We’ve been sitting on this here bench longer than some of them been around. They got no call to be buttin’ their noses in where we sit.”

“No call.” Buster agreed.

“What we want, Madam Peacock, is for you to look into your crystal ball and tell us how to get the damn Crappy Committee off our backs.”

“Well now. I don’t have my crystal ball with me, but let’s see what I can do.” Ceremoniously, Cherry circled the bench three times.

“Yeah now, gal, you’re making me dizzy. You got something to tell us or what?”

Nothing special happened by circling except to give her a chance to think, to feel. Unfortunately, the two men had built up too many shields through the years for her to read them. Which meant falling back on body language, and good sense.

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