“I’m going to watch every step you take.”

Lora shrugged. “Maybe I’ll keep an eye on you to make sure you’re as noble as you say you are.”

Eyes flashing, Jon Woods, her newest challenge, said, “I’m not noble, I just know when someone is not who they appear to be.”

She shook her head and walked back toward the house, aware that she should be unnerved by his threat, but feeling a shimmery thrill instead.

He was going to keep an eye on her, hmm? That should be interesting.

Okay, so she’d sworn off men.

That didn’t mean she couldn’t drive one remarkably irritating specimen a little crazy—did it?

She added a swish to her walk.

Take that!

Dear Reader,

Are you headed to the beach this summer? Don’t forget to take along your sunblock—and this month’s four new heartwarming love stories from Silhouette Romance!

Make Myrna Mackenzie’s The Black Knight’s Bride (SR #1722) the first book in your tote bag. This is the third story in THE BRIDES OF RED ROSE, a miniseries in which classic legends are retold in the voices of today’s heroes and heroines. For a single mom fleeing her ex-husband, Red Rose seems like the perfect town—no men! But then she meets a brooding ex-soldier with a heart of gold.…

In Because of Baby (SR #1723), a pixie becomes so enamored with a single dad and his adorable tot that she just might be willing to sacrifice her days of fun and frivolity for a human life of purpose…and love! Visit a world of magic and enchantment in the latest SOULMATES by Donna Clayton.

Even with the help of family and friends, this widower with a twelve-year-old daughter finds it difficult to think about the future—until a woman from his past moves in down the street. Rest and relaxation wouldn’t be complete without the laughter and love in The Daddy’s Promise (SR #1724) by Shirley Jump.

And while away the last of your long summer day with Make Me a Match (SR #1725) by Alice Sharpe. A feisty florist, once burned by love, is supposed to be finding a match for her mother and grandmother…not falling for the town’s temporary vet! Matchmaking has never been so much fun.

What could be better than greeting summer with beach reading? Enjoy!

Mavis C. Allen

Associate Senior Editor

Make Me a Match
Alice Sharpe

www.millsandboon.co.uk

This book is dedicated to my husband and his great, big wonderful heart.

Books by Alice Sharpe

Silhouette Romance

Going to the Chapel #1137

Missing: One Bride #1212

Wife on His Doorstep #1304

Prim, Proper…Pregnant #1425

The Baby Season #1525

Make Me a Match #1725

Silhouette Yours Truly

If Wishes Were Heroes

ALICE SHARPE

met her husband-to-be on a cold, foggy beach in Northern California. One year later they were married. Their union has survived the rearing of two children, a handful of earthquakes registering over 6.5, numerous cats and a few special dogs, the latest of which is a yellow Lab named Annie Rose. Alice and her husband now live in a small rural town in Oregon, where she devotes the majority of her time to pursuing her second love, writing.

Alice loves to hear from readers. You can write her at P.O. Box 755, Brownsville, OR 97327. A SASE for reply is appreciated.

Lora Gifford’s Matchmaking Agenda!

1. | Grandma Ella: After the loss of Grandpa all those years ago, gossipy granny must be lonely. Besides, getting her a man of her own will take the focus off me! (I hope…)
2. | Mom: With Dad out of the picture, Mom needs someone who can keep up with her full-of-life personality. Enter the dashing Dr. Reed. If only Mom would stop discussing the most unromantic things whenever she’s with him. Is she trying to ruin this for me—er, her?
3. | Dr. Reed: Ten years older, and a whole lot more stable than Dad, the sweet and gentle vet would be the perfect match for Mom. And a wonderful stepfather for me.
4. | Dr. Jon Woods: Okay, so technically he already has a girlfriend, but wouldn’t it be nice if she were actually in town? Well, not really, but at least that way I wouldn’t find myself daydreaming about a future that could never be.
5. | Me: This is the only way to get mom and grandma off my back! Pretend to be interested in a man—say, Jon Woods, for example—and hopefully they’ll get the hint and leave my love life alone. Thankfully, Jon’s agreed to the charade. Luckily my heart can’t possibly get broken this time.**

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter One

Clutching one very irritable tabby cat in her arms, Lora Gifford wondered who the heck the good-looking man walking through the examination room door might be.

The veterinarian she’d come to interrogate…er, meet?

No way.

For one thing, this guy didn’t appear to need the love of a good woman to whip him into shape. Besides, she had it on good authority that Dr. Reed was over sixty. This guy appeared to be half that age and what with his golden tan and chiseled features, looked more like a movie star than an animal doctor. Even the way he took off his wire rim glasses had star quality.

Drat.

Okay, back to plan B—whatever that might turn out to be. All she had to do now was figure out a graceful way of exiting, stage left. He smiled at her and another thought crossed her mind. What if this interloper had information? It might save time to just stay put and ask.

First things first, however. “Who are you?” she said, and because she hadn’t intended her question to sound quite so much like an accusation, added, “It’s just that I was expecting Doctor Victor Reed.”

Mr. Hollywood folded his glasses into his breast pocket and extended a hand. “Victor’s out of the office. I’m Jon Woods. I’ll be happy to take a look at your cat this morning.”

Intending to politely shake his hand, Lora relaxed her hold on Boggle, who took the opportunity to make for the hills. She gasped in pain as the cat’s needle-like claws punctured the weave of her sweater, tearing holes in the tender flesh of her upper arm and shoulder.

Jon Woods gently unhooked Boggle and settled him on the stainless table with a practiced firmness the cat seemed to grudgingly respect. He rubbed Boggle’s ears and crooned to him, his voice a soothing murmur. Was he speaking some kind of secret animal language? Tilting her head, Lora listened closely but couldn’t make out a single word. Finally, keeping a good grip on his rebellious patient, Jon fixed Lora with a steady gaze. “Now, what seems to be wrong with Boggle?”

As far as Lora knew, there wasn’t a thing wrong with Boggle that a horse tranquilizer wouldn’t take care of. She wasn’t there because of the cat; he was simply her cover. For that matter, he wasn’t even her cat. She’d borrowed him from a neighbor. Rubbing what she imagined to be her blood-soaked shoulder, she glanced at the door and said, “I’ll just wait until Dr. Reed gets back.”

“You’ll have a long wait. He had surgery on his foot so he’ll be off for a few weeks.”

“He’s in the hospital?”

“Yes—”

“Good Samaritan?”

A quizzical look flashed across Jon’s face, settling in his willow-bark brown eyes. “Are you another of his devoted admirers? No, wait, didn’t I see on the chart that this is your first visit to the office?”

“I’ve never met Dr. Reed,” she said. “I wouldn’t know him from Adam.”

He regarded her with open curiosity, which she tried to ignore. Striving for a casual tone, she added, “So, how long do you think the doctor will be in the hospital?”

“A few days, then he’ll finish his recovery at home.”

A new plan hatched itself in Lora’s mind. She’d drop Boggle back at the neighbor’s, then go into the shop and make up a flower arrangement and deliver it to the hospital herself. Better double check which hospital, just in case. As a florist, she did this all the time so that was no problem. Congratulating herself on the flexibility of her scheme, she cautiously started to pick up Boggle.

Jon’s hand landed on hers. “I assure you I’m capable—”

“Oh, I didn’t mean to insinuate that you couldn’t fix Boggle.”

He looked even more confused. “I’m sorry, they should have told you up front that you need to make an appointment for that procedure.”

She liked the way his face reflected his emotions. She liked the way a lock of sun-bleached hair fell across his forehead. His hands, one of which still rested atop hers, were well formed, his touch extraordinarily light.

Lora worried her bottom lip. Was it possible this man was different from the rest? If he was a partner in this office didn’t that suggest a certain stability? Maybe she should give him a chance.…

No. No, no, no. “No,” she said, aloud.

His hand slid off of hers and along Boggle’s spine. Amazingly, the cat produced a tattered purr. Glancing at Lora, Jon said, “His temperament might improve if you did have him neutered, so you might want to consider it.”

She’d forgotten that in the veterinary world, “fixed” and “neutered” were virtually synonymous. “I just mean that Boggle is—”

Boggle is what?

Since her sole experience with keeping pets revolved around the care of a twenty-gallon aquarium, she realized she’d neglected to think up a suitable ailment for the cat. Hoping to sound like less of a ditz than she suddenly felt, she mumbled, “Grouchy. I think he needs a checkup. He hisses…a lot.”

“Is this new behavior for him?”

“Ah, no,” she said, thinking of the times Boggle darted spiteful looks at her from beneath her neighbor’s stairs. “No, he always seems ill-tempered.”

“How about his appetite?”

How about his appetite? “Seems normal,” she said.

“Any new members of the family to contend with?” he asked. “A husband, maybe? A new boyfriend?”

Was he flirting with her? She studied him but just couldn’t tell. Should she invent a jealous spouse to squash any romantic notions that might be floating around in his handsome head? She murmured, “No husband.”

“I see.”

Their eyes met again. Lora looked down at the cat.

Jon opened a cupboard and brought out a pressurized can of cheddar cheese spread. He distributed a thin line of it on the table top which Boggle immediately began licking. Next the vet produced a stethoscope. “Okay, well, let’s take a look at him,” he said.

Lora couldn’t help but admire the deft way Jon managed the examination. She wondered if Doctor Reed would have handled himself as competently. Surely he wouldn’t look as good doing it. Jon was definitely in his prime, one could say. Strong. Competent. Great hands. She wished she’d paid more attention to how he looked in his glasses—she’d bet he was just cute as a button. If she could bend her neck a little, she could check out his rear—

Stop it! Concentrate on Dr. Reed.

For penitence, she began mentally building a flower arrangement in her mind. It was spring and the town of Fern Glen sat right on the coast, so Siberian Iris and dune grasses came to mind. Maybe daffodils. She’d never met a man who didn’t like daffodils. At the hospital, she’d hide behind the arrangement just as she currently hid behind Boggle. She needed to find out four things: was Victor Reed likable? Did he have any obvious bad habits? Was he cute in an older guy kind of way? Was he available?

“Lora?”

Hearing her name snapped her out of her thoughts. “Huh?”

Jon looped the stethoscope casually around his neck. “I think Boggle is fine. Heart and lungs and stomach sound good, no other obvious problems. Of course, if you notice additional symptoms, bring him back in, but honestly, I think he’s just ornery by nature. And he’s already been neutered so I’m afraid that as far as personality goes, what you see is what you get.”

He was probably wondering how in the world she would not know that her own cat was already neutered. She said, “Thanks, Doctor.”

“Call me Jon.”

She didn’t want to call him Jon. She didn’t want to call him anything.

Okay, that wasn’t true. He was a tasty-looking dish, there was no denying that, but she’d recently bowed out of the dating game.

On the other hand, she didn’t want to leave a bad impression even if she would never see him again. It was a small community and who knew when he’d show up at the flower shop needing flowers for some new honey? A beautiful bronzed blonde, she’d bet. A woman with long eyelashes and a thrilling career that didn’t require she live from paycheck to paycheck. Sweeping aside wayward strands of wavy dark hair, Lora added, “Did I mention that I haven’t had Boggle very long?”

“That explains a lot,” he said as though relieved to discover she might not be a nitwit after all. He unfolded his glasses and put them on again, and sure enough, he looked fine. Reaching for the folder, he flipped it open and scanned the page. “It appears you forgot to give us your phone number,” he said, glancing up.

“Why do you need my phone number?”

“It’s office policy,” he said, grabbing a pencil from the counter.

She mumbled out a bogus phone number and repeated her thanks. Clutching the angry cat and her checkbook, she hurried out of the small examination room only to be met by an assistant wearing a purple smock printed with frolicking dogs. The assistant told Lora to wait as she ducked into the room Lora had just vacated.

Lora more or less wedged an increasingly distressed Boggle between herself and a wall and wished she’d thought to bring a box. She tried stroking the cat’s ears and crooning softly to calm him, just as she’d seen Jon do. For a moment, staring into eyes as green as her own, she thought she and the cat connected in some primal way, then he opened his mouth so wide she could see down his surprisingly pink gullet and emitted a hiss that made the hairs on the back of Lora’s neck stand up.

“Bad kitty!” she scolded. With an annoyed glance at the examination room door, she wondered what was taking so long.

The assistant finally reappeared. “The doctor says there’ll be no charge today.”

Stunned by Jon Woods’s generosity, she momentarily thought of tumbling to his charm, then she sucked it up and beat a hasty retreat. Once inside the van, Boggle crouched under the passenger seat and howled.

“No wonder I prefer tropical fish,” Lora grumbled over the din.

Jon found himself looking out the window, angling for a glimpse of his last patient’s owner.

All he saw was a big blue van pulling out of the parking lot. He resettled the blinds and picked up the folder beneath Lora’s.

He’d been in Fern Glen, a quaint town on the Northern California coast, for a little over a month and face it, he’d been growing increasingly bored. There were just so many times a man could walk along a windswept beach—alone. Only so many times he could admire towering trees or chat with strangers. He missed Los Angeles, Trina, his own life, and not necessarily in that order.

He couldn’t deny, however, that Lora Gifford had piqued his interest. She was just so…well, so real. He’d be willing to bet there wasn’t a phony hair on her head, and speaking of hair, that ebony fall of glistening strands was unbelievable.

Lora. Her name was Lora and she seemed a little skittish, as though she’d been wounded in the past. He felt a protective surge in his chest and smiled at his own folly. His ability to empathize with creatures was a bonus in his career; he just had to guard the tendency to let it guide his reactions to people. Especially female people.

He put Lora Gifford out of his mind as he got ready for his next patient, a black Labrador puppy with the sniffles.

Five years before Lora was born her parents had purchased a small piece of real estate in the heart of Fern Glen. Her mother dreamed of opening a fabric store. Her father yearned to start a bait and tackle shop. They settled on a florist because at the time, Fern Glen didn’t have one.

Compromise. That was the name of the game for her parents, but it hadn’t come without taking a toll on their relationship. For all intents and purposes, Lora had grown up in a petal-lined war zone. In the off season, while her father fished and her mother made quilts for extra money, Lora had escaped into after-school work with a local lily grower, her mentor a disabled old man with a wealth of experience he was anxious to share. For her, his warm glass-sided buildings had become a sanctuary.

Four years before, Lora had received a modest inheritance from a favorite uncle and shocked everyone by using it to buy herself a house. Her parents had been surprised by her choice—the house was small and ungainly. What Lora didn’t explain was that she’d really bought the house because of the greenhouse out in back.

Two years later, her father decided thirty years of married life was enough, hooked up his boat and drove away. Her mother kept the shop. Lora, who discovered how limited the financial resources really were when she took over the books, invited her mother to move in with her for a few months. The months had turned into a year.

And then Lora’s long-widowed grandmother had shown up on Lora’s doorstep with three suitcases and five cardboard boxes, everything else she owned tucked safely in storage. She was lonely. How could Lora turn away her own grandmother? At least Grandma was willing to share a room with Lora’s mom. So now three generations resided in Lora’s little cottage and Lora was one breath away from going nuts.

It was Calvin’s fault. The rat had left her, and in leaving her, he’d opened the door for her relatives to come charging through, a single goal firing their passion: find Lora a husband! It didn’t matter how many times Lora told them she wasn’t interested—they simply didn’t believe her.

She’d been so sure that Calvin was “The One.” They were the same age, he loved the outdoors as she did, he had family in Fern Glen. Perfect. Then he’d accepted a job in Chicago without even telling Lora he’d applied. All she had to do was pack a bag. He, it seemed, had a plan.

Only, she had plans of her own.

Take it or leave it, he’d said.

At that point she’d decided there was one thing of which she was certain: she was not going to follow her parents’ example and spend her life compromising.

Now, thanks to the meddling of her loving relatives, a seemingly endless procession of quasi eligible men had recently shown up for dinner or come into the shop to buy flowers. Things were getting out of hand.

Out of desperation, Lora had given the matter some deep thought. Loneliness was the culprit, she decided, for both her mom and Gram, so she’d attack from that angle. With luck, she’d shift their attention away from her love life and on to their own.

After Lora dropped Boggle off, she entered the flower shop through the delivery door in the back. She tiptoed around, relieved to find her mother and grandmother busy with customers out front.

For a second, she thought about Jon Woods and his ploy to get her phone number, and she felt a smile threaten to emerge. She wiped the smile away with a firm wave of resolve. Sure he was interesting and as sexy as all get out. It wasn’t that she was blind to his attributes, she reminded herself, she was just on the mend. It wasn’t wise to flit from relationship to relationship like some dazed bumble bee.

But Jon is local, an animal doctor, a man with roots like your own, her subconscious needled. Maybe you should let down your guard a little and get to know him.…

No. Concentrate on Mom and Gram. There’ll be time to investigate Jon Woods in the months to come.

She checked the fax machine to see how behind they were. Not bad. After making a couple of calls to confirm which hospital Dr. Reed was at she quickly put together a suitable arrangement and made it out the door again without being detected.

At the nurses’ station, she discovered Dr. Reed’s surgery had been two days before, which was terrific news. Surely he’d be well on the way to recovery by now and perhaps a little lonely. Lonely people liked to chat, even to florists. She told the busy nurses she’d deliver the flowers herself. A few moments later, she got her first glimpse of her prospective stepfather.

Dr. Reed, lying in his bed, glanced up from a book the moment Lora came through the door. The first thing she noticed about him were the color of his eyes, a perfect match for grape hyacinths. A neatly trimmed beard and a full head of sterling silver hair accompanied the eyes—the man looked like the captain of a cruise ship!

“More flowers?” he said.

There were no other flowers in the room. “You bet. Where would you like them?”

“Who are they from?”

She’d thought of that. Picking out the card she read, “Says here they’re from your friends at the Animal Clinic.” She handed him the card and he studied it for a moment.

“Those guys really went overboard. I told my sister to take the other bouquets because I’m getting out this afternoon. Just put those by the window.”

No aging girlfriend to schlep his flowers? Good.

“I’d be happy to deliver them to your house,” she said, still holding the flowers and excited about the prospect of seeing how and where he lived.

“I couldn’t ask—”

“I insist,” she said. “So, you’re going home. Are you thrilled?”

His eyes twinkled. “You bet.”

“It’ll be good to sit down in your own house with a fat cigar and a stiff drink, right?” Was that too obvious a prying question?

Apparently not. “Never have smoked though I do enjoy the occasional glass of red wine,” he said, settling comfortably against his pillows. “They say it keeps you young.”

“Looks as though it’s working,” she said with a grin.

He laughed. He had a nice laugh. “Now, what’s a pretty girl like you doing flirting with an old goat like me?”

She laughed, too. She liked this guy. Hope began to flutter in her chest, and it wasn’t just selfish hope anymore. Her mother deserved happiness, deserved to be with someone ten years older and wiser than she.

Lora said, “Do you live with your sister?”

“Oh, no,” he said amiably. “Jess is married and has her own home. No, since my wife died and our two sons moved to the east coast, I live alone.”

Lora gestured at his bandaged foot, which lay outside the covers. “How are you going to handle getting around by yourself?”

“Crutches.”

“They can be difficult to get the hang of.”

“Well, Jess will come by during the day and I’ll be okay at night.”

Genuinely concerned, she wrinkled her brow. “You’ll be all alone? What if there’s a fire? How will you manage by yourself? You should hire someone to stay with you. It’s dangerous to be alone.”

“Sounds as if you’re in cahoots with my doctor and my sister, young lady.”

“My name is Lora Gifford,” she said, shifting the arrangement to her left arm and offering her right hand. She’d taken an immediate liking to this man and had big plans for his future that required him getting back on his feet ASAP. Her mother loved to dance.

He shook her hand. “Well, Lora, it’s really no big deal. I don’t mind being by myself.”

No one to stay the night meant no girlfriend, right?

Let’s see, she’d covered obvious bad habits, availability, appearance and charm. Was there anything else?

He looked from her to the card that had come with the flowers and back again. “Lora Gifford? Are you George Gifford’s daughter?”

“You know my dad?”

“I used to fish with him years ago, back when my boys were just kids. He owned the Lora Dunes flower shop which I just realized he must have named after you.”

“Me and the beach.”

“I’ll be. I remember seeing you with your mother a couple of times. You were four or five years old. Your mother was a beauty. Jet black hair, emerald eyes…you look just like her.”

“She’s still beautiful,” Lora said fondly, wishing she did look like her mother, knowing she’d inherited her grandmother’s demure stature and her father’s nose. “She and dad are divorced now, but Mom’s doing great.”

“Well, I’ll be,” he mused, his eyes thoughtful. “Where is your dad?”

“Down in San Diego, fishing his heart out.”

“I’m sorry about him and your mother.”

Lora said, “It’s okay. They’re both happier now.”

“And how about you? Married? Kids?”

“No, neither.”

“I didn’t think so, but so many young women keep their maiden name now and don’t wear rings, you just never know.”

While Dr. Reed seemed to study Lora, she chewed on her lip. Was it really possible this man was as decent as he seemed to be? Appearances could be so deceiving, and first impressions were worthless in the long haul. Besides, it wasn’t as though she had a good track record with men, young or old or in-between. No way was she going to jeopardize her mother’s out-of-practice heart on a guy whose pleasant manners hid the soul of a cad. She needed more information.…

She said, “Dr. Reed, I have an idea. Sometimes I hire out for odd jobs. You know, to make ends meet. I could come to your house after work. At least there’d be someone there at night in case a fire started or…something.”

He looked quite startled by the abruptness of her offer. He wasn’t the only startled one. What had she just done? She thought of her mother, she thought of Gram, truth be known, she thought of their next batch of erstwhile bachelors.

“I really am quite capable,” she said firmly.

“I don’t doubt it for a moment,” he said.

“And I’m neat as a pin.”

A smile curved his lips. Lora could sense him considering her suggestion.

“I go to bed early,” Dr. Reed said. “It would be boring for you.”

“Mom says only boring people get bored,” she said, hoping to impress him with her mother’s pithy insights. “I can provide references—”

“Not necessary,” he said with a wave of his hand.

“What’s not necessary?” a voice said from the doorway.

Lora recognized the voice and turned in time to find Jon Woods striding across the linoleum. He blinked rapidly when he saw her face.

He wasn’t the only one blinking. Out of his office, with a tailored jacket thrown over his form-fitting black shirt and no stethoscope looped around his neck, he looked suave, sophisticated and harder than ever to resist.

Why had she bunched her hair into a ponytail before coming to the hospital? Why hadn’t she taken off the lousy green sweater and replaced it with—anything else!

This yin and yang of her current position concerning men was disconcerting. Wanting and rejecting. Thinking maybe and then slamming the door.

Staring into her eyes, he said, “This is a coincidence, isn’t it? I didn’t expect to see you here.”

His gaze made her damn near breathless but his arrival embarrassed the heck out of her. She’d not expected to see him again either, especially in the hospital room of a man she’d admitted she’d never met. She glanced at her watch and saw that it was the lunch hour—great planning on her part. This could get dicey. “I’m delivering flowers,” she said.

“You two know each other?” Dr. Reed asked pleasantly.

Jon released Lora from his gaze. “We met today when she brought her cat in for a checkup. She was disappointed when I showed up instead of you, Victor.”

Jon’s remark was met with a wince from Lora and raised eyebrows from Dr. Reed who said, “I don’t believe you’ve ever been to the clinic before, have you Lora? Don’t tell me my memory is that bad.”

Hadn’t her mother told her to never lie? She’d used a lifetime’s quota that day and now she was going to pay for it. Or maybe not. Looking at Dr. Reed, she said, “I heard all about you from my friend, Peg Ho. You’re Cerise’s vet.” This was the truth and Lora felt suitably virtuous.

Dr. Reed chuckled. “Peg’s Irish Setter is a dynamo.”

Jon said, “If you enjoy animals with personalities, wait until you meet Lora’s cat.”

“Boggle tends to be a little antisocial,” Lora said and added, “In fact, I’m thinking of letting my neighbor have him. She adores cats.” Anxious to get the topic of conversation off of her pretend pet, she said, “I’m glad we ran into each other, Dr. Woods. I wanted to thank you for not charging me to examine Boggle.”

“I asked you to call me Jon.”

“Jon.” Lora felt a sigh build in her throat and squelched it, but sometimes her new lifestyle choice was hard, and never more so than now. It didn’t take even a good imagination—and hers was excellent—to picture herself wrapped in his powerful arms, held against his rock-hard chest, stroked with his gentle hands…

“Beautiful flowers,” Jon said, admiring the arrangement.

“Lora’s a florist,” Dr. Reed said, his gaze traveling from Jon to Lora.

Jon smiled at her in such a way that her knees felt a little weak. She’d always been a sucker for a good smiler.

“Your work is original,” he said.

“Thanks.” She needed to get out of this room for more than one reason!

Jon looked over her head. “Victor, is there anything I can bring you this evening when I come back to visit? Magazines? A portable radio? Illicit milkshakes?”

“I’ll be long gone by this evening,” Dr. Reed said. “Jess and her husband are picking me up this afternoon.”

“That’s great news.”

Lora saw her chance. “I’ll leave you guys alone now,” she said, and started to shuffle off. She and Dr. Reed hadn’t firmed up anything concerning her wily plan to nurse him back on his feet and into her mother’s heart; no doubt Jon’s arrival had nixed the whole idea.

Jon gestured at her arms. “Aren’t you going to leave the flowers?”

“Lora is bringing them to the house tonight,” Dr. Reed said. “Not that these aren’t appreciated, Jon, but really, you guys down at the clinic shouldn’t have sent me any more flowers.”

Jon’s brow creased. “I don’t think we did,” he said.

“’Course you did,” Dr. Reed said, handing Jon the card. “It says so right here.”

Jon read the card.

“Maybe one of the assistants arranged it,” Lora mumbled. She was going straight to hell for all these lies!

“Those girls are always going overboard,” Dr. Reed said fondly.

Jon still looked skeptical.

“Fact is, this little lady is going to be my nighttime nurse for the next couple of weeks,” Dr. Reed added with a wink at Lora, who grinned with pleasure.

Jon looked up from the card. “I thought you refused to have strangers in the house at night.”

“Well, Lora isn’t a stranger. I knew her father once upon a time.”

“You knew her father?” His eyebrows inched up his forehead again as Lora tried to recall their earlier conversation at the clinic. No use; it was a blur. Jon said, “Victor, I would have been happy to help you out. You did so much for my dad.”

“And now you’re covering for me at the clinic. The debt is more than paid. Besides, you don’t have time to play nursemaid and Lora is prettier than you are.”

Both men stared at Lora who felt a red tide wash up her neck. “I can’t argue that point,” Jon said at last.

“And she’ll let me pay her for her time, won’t you, Lora?”

“Of course,” she said breezily, thinking of a timing belt for the van.

“And now that I know Lora has a cat at home, I feel even better about my decision.” Dr. Reed turned to Lora and added, “I’m glad you came in here and talked me into taking your help. You’re very persuasive.”

Lora smiled wanly as a sudden cold front engulfed Jon’s inherent warmth. She could imagine what he was thinking. Why would she insist on staying with a man she’d never met before, one she’d quizzed him about just hours before? Finally, after an eternity or two, he said, “You talked him into it?”

“She all but insisted, didn’t you, Lora?”

Jon’s wary gaze make her feel like confessing her plot. It’s like this, she could say. Mom is lonely, I’ll find someone for Gram later, I want my privacy back, Dr. Reed seems like a great guy and what better way to find out if he really is as nice as he seems than to hang around his house for a couple of weeks?

Like that would make things better!

Jon’s back was to Dr. Reed and he didn’t bother to look cordial when she murmured goodbye. At the last minute he said, “I’m sure we’ll meet again.”

Not if she could help it!

Chapter Two

Lora stored the bouquet she’d take to Dr. Reed’s later in the big walk-in refrigerator, taking a second to inhale deeply. As always, the cold, flowery air cleared her mind as it filled her lungs. So many flowers, so many choices, and the order she was filling simply gave a price range—the selection and composition was up to her.

As she arranged heavy copper roses with dark purple iris, lemon colored freesia and glossy magnolia leaves, she watched her mother and grandmother out of the corner of her eye and for the first time, had doubts about what she was doing.

They looked so…content.

Grandma Ella with her wispy white hair and rosy cheeks was dusting everything in sight, concentrating especially, it seemed to Lora, on items by the front door. No doubt Grandma had arranged some semiaccidental meeting between Lora and a friend’s grandson and was looking for him even now. Groan.

Lora’s mother, on the other hand, was busy helping a middle-aged man pick out the flowers for a bouquet to be wrapped in cellophane. At fifty, Angela Gifford was a tall, slender woman with glossy black hair barely brushed with gray, cut to ride atop her shoulders. She was by far the best of the three with customers, knowing when to help and when to back off. Grandma Ella tended to talk people to death and Lora had what her mother called “patience issues.”

A few hours later they all drove home together, Lora at the wheel, the iris and daffodil arrangement secure in the rack in the far back, Grandma Ella chatting away about her friend’s grandson.

Once inside the house, Lora broke her big news. “I have a job for two weeks,” she informed them as she counted and fed her fish. All present and accounted for. Her denizens of the deep had survived another day.

“I’ll be gone in the early evening until morning, I’m helping out an older guy who just had foot surgery. I’ll still come into work, of course, and the money I make will fix up the van. One of you two is going to have to feed my fish.”

Grandma Ella made tsking sounds deep in her throat. For years, Lora had tried to emulate these sounds as they seemed to come in quite useful in a variety of circumstances, but she just couldn’t get them right. Grandma said it was because she didn’t have enough bosom. Lora looked down at her chest. The fact that she wore an oversized sweater didn’t help much, but maybe Grandma was right.

The tsking faded away and Grandma said, “I invited a young man over for dessert tonight, Lora. Oh, that’s right, you were off making deliveries when he came in. You might want to comb your hair and change your clothes.”

Lora’s mom opened the refrigerator and took out a foil wrapped package of leftovers. No matter where she lived or with whom, Angela Gifford was a true cook, the kind who roasted a turkey and fixed all the trimmings for just two people, who got giddy if a friend presented her with a freshly caught crab.

“Chicken enchiladas okay with everyone for dinner?” Without waiting for an answer, she added, “I don’t know, Mother, I thought the boy looked a little young.”

This comment got Lora’s attention. “How young?”

“Angela, when you get to be seventy-one, everyone looks young,” Grandma Ella insisted.

“How much younger?” Lora asked warily.

Grandma shrugged plump shoulders. “I don’t know.”

“Six years if a day,” Lora’s mother said firmly.

Aghast, Lora blurted out, “Six years! I’m almost twenty-five years old! What’s wrong, have you gone through every twenty-something male you know so now you want me to date teenagers?”

“I never noticed this age prejudice in you before,” her grandmother tsked. “Besides, your mother is exaggerating.”

Lora felt a scream coming on.

Lora’s Mom shook her head. “Lora’s right, he’s too young.”

Lora said, “Thank you, Mom.” At last, reason.

“I want grandchildren,” her mother continued. “What kind of money can a teenager earn unless he’s a dot-com genius or in a rock band? Enough to support a family? I don’t think so.”

“Pauline assures me her godson has potential,” Grandma Ella insisted.

Lora’s mom clicked her tongue. “So does the new barber across the street and he’s got his own business.”

“Owning a barbershop is good,” Grandma said. “No matter what happens, men will always need someone to cut their hair because there’s not a one of them that can do a decent job of it himself unless he shaves his head. Okay, we’ll just feed this boy some strawberry shortcake and shoo him on his way.”

Angela nodded. “Good. By the way, Lora, I met the barber face-to-face this morning. His name is Michael. He’s just delightful and listen to this—he asked about you!”

With renewed clarity, Lora knew that something had to give and it wasn’t going to be her. She no longer cared that her mother and grandmother seemed happy in their matchmaking schemes—these women needed a different diversion than Lora’s love life and what better diversion than a love life of their own!

She was back on track.

She said, “Grandma, I’m not going to be here for dinner or desert.”

“But how will that look?”

Leaning over her grandmother and kissing her soft hair, she said, “Sweetie, it doesn’t really matter how it looks.” She assumed a stern expression and added, “I’ve repeatedly told you guys that for the time being, I’ve sworn off men. As for marriage and babies, just forget it. A woman isn’t defined in the old ways anymore.”

“But being part of a team is truly wonderful,” Angela said with a sappy glow in her eyes. “A woman needs a man, honey. Sure, there are hard times, and I know Calvin hurt you when he ran off to Chicago. Trust me, I know about hurt. But that shouldn’t sour you on all men.”

Lora was speechless. Her mother’s faith in the opposite sex, no matter how many times she’d been proven wrong, was astounding.

“Just stay and have dessert,” Grandma Ella added as she hulled strawberries. “After this, I promise, no teenagers.”

“I need to go out to the greenhouse,” she said, gesturing at the cloudy glass structure in her backyard. “I’ll lock up after myself out there and water in the mornings on my way to work. And don’t forget to feed my fish.” All this was said as Lora scribbled Dr. Reed’s name and phone number on a scrap of paper and shoved it into her mother’s hands. An hour later, greenhouse chores complete and overnight bag packed, she pulled out of the driveway just as a kid in a red convertible pulled in.

Victor Reed lived in a sprawling split-level house on the outskirts of town. The huge yard was beautifully designed with towering trees and lush foliage, including masses of late-blooming rhododendrons, but everything was overgrown. Lora guessed that Dr. Reed’s wife had been in charge of the upkeep.

Her mother was a gardening wizard!

Two cats, one gray and white and the other coal-black, sat on the front porch, smack in front of the door. A riot of barking ensued at the sound of Lora’s knock. She tried the knob. Two large dogs charged outside as the two cats darted inside. Lora juggled her suitcase and the flower arrangement as the dogs sniffed and wagged.

She had to yell. “Hello?”

“Back here,” Dr. Reed called.

The big yellow dogs came back inside with Lora. A third dog came charging down the hallway—this one shaggy and about the size of a toaster oven. After a noncommittal growl, he licked her suitcase.

The same sense of good taste gone to seed permeated the house. Apparently, Dr. Reed had let the whole shebang get away from him. Well, she had a cure for that, didn’t she? Over the weekend, she’d get her mother to come over to help weed and casually introduce her to Dr. Reed. They’d stare into each other’s eyes. Mom would see an older man with laugh lines and a gentle heart and Dr. Reed would see an attractive middle-aged woman with great legs and a ready smile. The scenario played itself out in Lora’s head.

All that was left was to find grandma a match!

The dogs led Lora to a smallish room with dark leather furniture and shelf upon shelf of books. A big desk sat in one corner, but Dr. Reed was sprawled on a recliner, his bandaged foot out in front, a blanket thrown over the rest of him. A different cat, this one pure white, slept on his lap. His crutches were on the floor beside his chair and a muted television flashed light into the room.

“You came just in time,” Dr. Reed said. “I’m about to starve to death. Maybe you could order us a pizza.”

“Or maybe I could just fix something,” Lora said.

“Jess did the shopping. All she bought was real food.”

“Real food?”

“As opposed to the stuff you can throw in the microwave. Can you cook?”

Stepping over the dogs that had settled on the rug, she put his flowers on the desk and dumped her suitcase out of the way. “Can I cook?” she scoffed. “Point the way to your kitchen.”

Dr. Reed’s sister had indeed stocked the refrigerator and within half an hour, Lora had stir-fried shrimp and asparagus and cooked a pot of jasmine rice. She made a tray for the both of them and took it back to the den. All the animals had settled close to Dr. Reed. In unison, they looked up as the aroma of food wafted across the room.

“Kick them out into the backyard,” he said as she set the tray on a low table. “Just shake the treat jar by the back door, they’ll come running. Don’t worry, the yard is fenced. Boy, I’m sure glad you’re used to animals.”

Not those who actually had feet, she thought. Sure enough, the furry critters showed up with the first rattle of their treat jar. By the time she returned to the den, Dr. Reed was in the process of spearing a shrimp. “Who knew you could cook like this?” he said after tasting it. “You’re so young.”

“My mother taught me,” Lora said. “She’s a great cook. It’s incredible she’s kept her figure.”

“She sounds like an amazing woman.”

“Oh, she is,” Lora gushed.

He smiled at her and they chatted while they ate. She discovered he’d been widowed for several years, that all his pets were former patients their owners had abandoned in one way or another and that he had a delightful attitude about life. In other words, he was the total opposite of her father. Lora beamed. Her mother was going to love this guy.

Lora felt so at home that when the doorbell rang she jumped up without waiting for Dr. Reed to ask her to get it. Through the glass panel, she could see Jon Woods standing on the porch, a duffel bag in his hand, an impatient look on his face.

What was he doing here?

She had half a mind to pretend no one was home, but that was stupid, he could see the Lora Dunes Florist van out front. That duffel bag was ominous, however, so steeling herself against his disdain, she opened the door.

“Where are the dogs?” he said.

What a greeting! It was obvious he was still suspicious of her. Lora smiled and said, “I poisoned them and buried them in the backyard. Want to see?”

He groaned and shook his head.

Had she really known him for just this one day, and how had he gone from being so nice to being so annoyed in such a short time?

Was it because she wasn’t trying to make him like her? If so, it was obvious her own true personality wasn’t exactly magic when it came to the opposite sex. The blasted sweater probably didn’t help much, either. She vowed to get rid of it. Dating or not, a girl had her pride.

“What can I do for you?” she asked him.

“Not a thing,” he said, and walked right past her into the house. His familiarity with the place was evident in the way he went directly to the den. Lora closed the door and followed him. He looked good from the back, his body strong and tall, his shoulders broad. He wore faded jeans and a black T-shirt and cross trainers on his feet. He had a way of walking that looked masculine and physically fit. That walk reminded her of Calvin. He walked the same way, with a subdued bounce, full of confidence, full of sass. Full of himself.

Dr. Reed greeted Jon with genuine warmth. “It’s a shame you missed dinner,” he said.

“I stopped off for a sandwich,” John told him. “Where are the dogs?”

“In the backyard. Lora has a way with them. Well, it’s too bad you ate. I think it only fair that as Lora got here first, she gets dibs on which bedroom she wants.”

“You knew he was coming?” Lora asked.

“Of course. After you left today, Jon pointed out how much more useful he would be with some of the more personal aspects of my care, like bathing.”

Though this was undoubtedly true, Lora glared at Jon.

“Happy to be of help,” Jon said. His voice was nothing but sincere, but the challenging scowl he leveled at Lora said it all. “In fact, Victor,” he added, “why don’t we let Lora go home? I’m sure she has better things to do than hang around with a couple of veterinarians.”

Lora came close to punching him.

“Absolutely not,” Dr. Reed said just in time. “Lora and I made a deal. Besides, her mother taught her to cook. Imagine, asparagus and shrimp with ginger and garlic—well, she’s a whiz. She even wants to weed the garden this Sunday. You’ll be glad she’s around during the long evenings when I’m out like a light by eight o”clock.”

“I’m an excellent conversationalist,” Lora said in an attempt to goad Jon. “And I play a mean game of strip poker.”

Jon didn’t crack.

Chuckling, Dr. Reed said, “See? Isn’t she cute? Lora, I think it’s time to let the dogs and cats back inside for the night. Jon, how about getting me a pain pill and helping me to bed?”

As Jon assisted Dr. Reed, Lora fumed and fussed her way back into the kitchen with a platter of dirty dishes and a bad temper. Jon was up to something, that much was clear. He didn’t trust her, that’s why he was really here.

Why should he trust you? a niggling voice chirped in the back of her mind.

“Oh, shut up!” she snarled.

The animals were all begging at the door. They came inside in one big whoosh, tails wagging, snouts nuzzling, bodies coiling around her legs.

It was startling being surrounded by so many critters! And, truth be known, a little comforting. Tropical fish didn’t interact a lot and never when actually outside of their aquarium, of course, so this was all new. The white cat rubbed against Lora’s shoe and Lora reached down and picked it up. The cat regarded her with a raspy purr and adoring blue eyes. Hard to believe she and Boggle belonged to the same species.

“The fact is,” she whispered into the cat’s ear, “I’m sneakier than Jon. I also have a lofty goal to fuel my fire—true love. Well, the possibility of true love, at least. Plus, I need to get those meddlesome females out of my life before they marry me off to the unsuspecting barber across the street. Or a teenager,” she added with a shudder. “With all that going for me, why should I be worried about what Jon thinks or what Jon wants or even that he seems determined to interfere with my plans?”

The cat kneaded her claws and purred. If that wasn’t a resounding vote of confidence, what was?

“The cat’s deaf,” Jon said from the doorway.

Startled, Lora twirled to face him. “What?”

“Frosty is deaf. White cats with blue eyes often are. The white gene can induce withering of the inner ear. Frosty’s former owners couldn’t handle it, that’s why Victor adopted him.”

“Oh. She’s a him.”

“So spilling your guts to that cat is kind of pointless.”

Yikes! What had he heard her saying? Setting the cat down, she said, “How did you know I was spilling my guts, which I wasn’t, by the way. Were you eavesdropping?”

He smiled. “Don’t worry, I didn’t hear a word. Listen, we have to talk. Come with me.”

She folded her arms across her chest. “We can talk right here.”

“No. Come outside.”

“It’s dark out there.”

“Are you afraid of the dark?”

She wanted to say, No, I’m afraid of you. She said nothing.

“We’ll turn on the porch light.”

Leaving the dogs at the door, they went into the backyard. Jon switched on a light and the overgrown path to a small structure at the far end of the yard glowed with soft light.

The structure turned out to be a garden gazebo, less than eight feet across with bench seats on three sides. It had probably been charming at one time, but the drizzly north coast weather had stripped it of most of the white paint and dry rot had tilted the foundation. Jon sat on one creaking bench and Lora sat on another.

While she waited for him to gather his thoughts, she admired the way the light hit his cheekbones and forehead and glinted off his hair. This was the north coast in April—no way his hair got sun-bleached around here unless he went to a tanning booth or had it artificially bleached and she just couldn’t see him in either scenario. That meant he’d moved here from somewhere sunny and not too long ago.

Somewhere sunny. Him in a bathing suit, bare back crusted with glittering sand, sunlight warming his big shoulders. Suntan oil, warm ocean breezes, margaritas in a thermos. Her beside him—

What!

It was this setting. Romantic, hidden, the perfect place for crazy fantasies.

Another scene unfolded in her head. In this small drama, she was alone with Jon, not on the beach, not in the blazing sun, but here in this gazebo, the fragrance of flowers mingling with the nearby smell of the sea, his eyes smoldering as he looked deep into her soul. She could just about feel his fingers touch her face and the heat of his mouth as it closed over hers—

Jon cleared his throat and the wild images flitted away.

Still, he said nothing.

“Not that this hasn’t been fascinating,” Lora said stiffly, now wanting to escape her imagination as much as a confrontation, “but if you’ll excuse me, I’ll be going to…well, bed.” She rose to her feet.

“Drop the act,” Jon said softly.

She sat back down. “What act?”

Now he stood. Pacing back and forth in small controlled steps, he shot her a laser-like glance. “I know what you’re up to.”

He did? “You do?”

“Yes. And I think it’s appalling.” The pacing stopped, the glance turned into a glare. “You’re trying to con Victor into a marriage.”

How did he know this? Lora racked her brain, trying to recall if she’d said anything to anyone about her plans for Dr. Reed and her mother. She hadn’t, she was sure of it. Wait a second, she wasn’t trying to con anyone, she was simply facilitating romance. There was a difference! Fired by righteous indignation, she said, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He laughed. “You’re good, I’ll give you that. When I first saw you this morning, I thought—well, it doesn’t matter what I thought. You’ve been lying since the moment I met you. Boggle isn’t even your cat, is he? That’s why you didn’t know much about him. You just used him to get close to Victor and when you found out he wasn’t there, you grilled me about where he was. I tried calling you this afternoon—big surprise, the phone number you gave me turned out to be disconnected. You showed up at the hospital with flowers that no one at the clinic sent—I checked with all the employees so don’t bother denying it. Now you’ve wormed your way into Victor’s house.”

As there was more than a grain of truth in what he said, Lora went on the offensive. “I’m not the one holding a secret meeting out in the backyard,” she said. Not liking the disadvantage of her head being lower than his, she stood. She was still at a disadvantage as he was quite a bit taller than she but unless she climbed up on a bench, this was going to have to do.

“I’m not holding a secret meeting.”

“Then why are we hiding out here?”

“So we won’t disturb Victor.”

“At least I treat him like an adult.”

This remark earned her another glare. “Victor was my father’s best friend. He was there for Dad when Dad got so sick he could barely work. Dad wouldn’t tell me he was that sick, he didn’t want to worry me. That’s a laugh, isn’t it? Well, at any rate, I owe Victor Reed big time. He’s a decent, honest man. I won’t stand by and watch you seduce him for his money.”

Lora’s eyes grew wide. Had she heard him right? “Me seduce him?” she gasped. “Is that what you think?”

“Of course. You’re a gold digger. Admit it.”

Lora was momentarily speechless. “That’s…that’s crazy,” she finally sputtered. “He’s old enough to be my—”

“Father,” Jon said.

“Oh, this is ludicrous.”

“Is it? How about the coquettish way you acted in his hospital room?”

“I don’t even know how to act coquettish.”

“You were managing just fine. Batting your eyelashes, giggling…he may look old to you, but he’s a man, and a man, especially an older man, is susceptible to a pretty young woman coming on to him, taking him flowers, offering to care for him in his hour of need, cooking his favorite dinner. I don’t even want to know how you figured out what he liked to eat. Who did you pump for that information, his sister, his sons? No, don’t tell me. And, by the way, this meeting isn’t a secret. Tomorrow morning, I’ll tell Victor everything you say tonight, so I guess you’d better pack your bag and go home, the party is over.”

While she admired his loyalty and spunk, he was definitely endangering her plans and more to the point, the conclusion he had reached about her motives was downright insulting. If she told him the real reason she was interested in Victor Reed, would it make a difference? Sure, he might think slightly better of her, but would he really care if she was here for herself or for her mother? She doubted it. And what was this about money? Since when were small town veterinarians wealthy? She added, “Dr. Reed has money?”

“You know he does. Loads of it.”

“How?”

“Wise investments, his wife’s estate. Don’t act dumb with me, Lora.”

There was no denying that money was nice and that it would relieve a lot worries, but money had nothing to do with love. Besides, due to her own resourcefulness, they would soon have a tidy influx of cash. Why else did she have that greenhouse and why else had she been slaving away during every spare moment? Unsure how to handle this situation, she started out by saying, “You’re wrong about me.”

“I checked the facts—”

“Okay, not wrong about everything, just about my motives.”

“Then explain yourself.”

“No.”

He looked surprised. Running a hand through his hair, he regarded her steadily until he finally said, “No?”

“No. I don’t see any reason why I should explain myself to you. I’m exactly who I say I am. My name is Lora Gifford. I work with my mom and grandma at our family florist shop. Okay, I borrowed Boggle from my neighbor and I made up a phone number but that’s because you wouldn’t stop flirting with me and I’ve recently sworn off men.”

His brow narrowed. “I did not flirt with you,” he said.

“Oh, come off it. You wanted my phone number.”

“I told you, that’s office protocol.”

“Give me a break. I’ve been flirted with by real pros. I know when a man is coming on to me.”

He sank down onto the bench and stared up at her. “Lora Gifford, you’re either an amazingly talented dissembler or you’re endowed with thought processes I can’t begin to comprehend. I honestly don’t know which it is. I’m not sure it matters.”

She felt a smile threatening. She tried to nip it in the bud—it seemed an inappropriate time to smile—but she just couldn’t help herself. She was dying to tell him all about her plot to unite Dr. Reed and her mother and share a good laugh, but he’d sworn he’d tell Dr. Reed everything she said, so how could she? Everyone knew that once something like that was common knowledge, the game was as good as over, and she truly did like Victor Reed. In fact, she’d set her sights on him and nothing was going to ruin it.

Jon frowned at her smile.

She sat beside him. “I wouldn’t hurt or take advantage of Dr. Reed any more than you would,” she said. Sitting so close had been a miscalculation on her part. She hadn’t realized how short the benches were, how close they would be forced to sit, how his thigh and shoulder would brush against hers. She wanted to move away, but as she was trying to elicit his trust, suddenly jumping to her feet seemed counterproductive. She stayed put and tried to think clearly.

“I know my actions seem squirrely,” she said, now aware of his body heat permeating the two layers of cloth separating their skin. “I know I’ve lied to you, but I genuinely like Dr. Reed and I have no desire to take advantage of him in any way. I didn’t know he had money, it doesn’t matter. I don’t want his house or anything else.”

That little voice piped up in the back of her head again. How about his partner? Do you want him?

No! she told her libido.

“I wish I could believe you,” he said.

“Dr. Reed and I kind of connected at the hospital. He knew my dad. I’m not trying to seduce him, that’s silly. I just want to get to know him. Is that so hard to understand?”

“That’s all very nice,” he said, staring right into her eyes, “but it doesn’t explain why you came into the office to meet him in the first place, does it?”

“You’re not going to give an inch, are you?”

“Not when it concerns Victor.”

Standing abruptly, she said, “You have nothing to tell Dr. Reed about me except for some vague, unfounded suspicions and the fact that I commandeered a cat and was embarrassed to admit I brought the flowers myself as an excuse to meet him. Dr. Reed is paying me to stay here and I need the money to fix the van. So back off and leave me alone.”

“Then you are here for money.”

“It’s a job.”

“I’ll pay you what he said he’d pay you if you leave right now.”

“No, thanks, I actually like to work for my money. Why don’t you go back to your own place?”

“No way,” he said. Standing, he added, “This is a warning. I plan to stay here as long as you do. Someone has to look out for Victor’s interests. I’m going to watch every step you take.”

She shrugged. “Maybe I’ll keep an eye on you to make sure you’re as noble as you say you are.”

Eyes flashing, he said, “I’m not noble, I just know when someone is not who they appear to be.”

She shook her head and walked back toward the house, aware she should be unnerved by his threat, feeling a shimmery thrill instead.

He was going to keep an eye on her, hmm? That should be interesting.

Okay, so she’d sworn off men.

That didn’t mean she couldn’t drive one remarkably irritating specimen a little crazy—strictly on his own terms—did it?

She added a swish to her walk.

Take that!

Chapter Three

“May I help you?”

Jon Woods closed the glass door behind him and turned to find an older woman with flyaway white hair and robin egg-blue eyes.

Smoothing her hands over a yellow apron emblazoned with the words Lora Dunes Florist, she tilted her head and regarded him. Seldom had he been studied with quite so diligent a gaze. He felt she was taking in and recording every inch of his six feet, every one of his one hundred and seventy-five pounds, every brownish hair on his head.

“I need flowers,” he said.

She smiled brilliantly. “You’ve come to the right place. Oh, unless you need them arranged because I’m all alone here and not very good at actually making fancy arrangements. Now, for that, young man, you need to see my daughter or better yet, my granddaughter. Lora is a whiz with flowers, it’s in her blood. Why she could make a handful of weeds look like a million bucks.” She glanced at her watch and added, “She should be back from midday deliveries in about an hour. I could fetch you some nice iced tea while you wait.…”

Her voice trailed off expectantly. He couldn’t help but smile. The woman had said everything so fast she was now a tad breathless.

He said, “I just want some flowers.”

“This way to the cooler,” she said over her shoulder. “Is this for your wife?”

“For a friend,” he said firmly.

The older woman stopped in front of a refrigerated glass case in which resided dozens and dozens of flowers of all shapes, colors, sizes. He’d never seen so many flowers in one place at one time. “Do you actually send these specific flowers all the way to Los Angeles?”

“Oh, no. I’m sorry, I didn’t understand. You want to send flowers?”

“Yes.”

“Then you need to come check out our book. We fax your order to a florist down there.”

He stared at the huge book she offered. No way was he going to flip through all of that. “How about a dozen white roses. Long stems. In a box,” he said.

“Excellent choice,” the woman said as she retrieved an order form.

As he took a platinum charge card out of his wallet, he said, “It must be nice working alongside your granddaughter.”

The woman studied the card for a second. “Lora is such a dear. And so pretty! It’s hard to believe she’s still unmarried. Of course, that former fiancé of hers is to blame.”

A fiancé? Hadn’t Lora mentioned she’d recently sworn off men? So, she’d been jilted, that’s why she was so touchy. Jilted by a young man, setting her sights on an older one, huh? At odds with the dating scene? Well she’d been mistaken if she thought she could take a shortcut to marriage by trapping Victor. He said, “Are you saying she doesn’t date?”

“Calvin broke her heart, but she’ll mend when the right man comes along. You watch!”

He said, “I think I may have seen your granddaughter around. She’s very pretty.” He finally noticed a name tag pinned to the woman’s apron. Ella.

“Looks just like her mother and her great-grandmother. The looks skipped my generation. I look like my grandfather.”

“You sell yourself short,” he said.

She all but blushed. “So, it must be a pretty special lady you’re sending these roses to. Your mother, maybe?” This innocent question was accompanied by a swift upward glance from the corners of her blue eyes.

Without smiling at the transparency of the conversation, he said, “No. Now, about Lora—”

“Maybe if I put in a good word, she’ll go out with you. After all, you’re not a teenager, are you?”

“Not for a long time now.”

“Good. Lora is a dear. So many plans…not that she isn’t getting ready to settle down. She would have married that no-account Calvin if he hadn’t left her like he did. I think a woman, even in this day and age of liberation, needs a man to take care of her. What do you think?”

“I’m not sure,” he said.

He’d obviously given the wrong answer. Ella made a deep sound in her throat before demanding, “Are you one of those men who think a woman should work all day as well as have the babies and care for the home?”

He tried a smile and a shrug and a noncommittal, “I suppose it depends on what the woman wants.”

“Humph—” she said, handing him back his credit card.

He got the distinct feeling he’d fallen from her graces, which meant she might clam up so he added, “Of course, I hope when I marry that my wife will be content with a more traditional role.” He almost choked on these words. Trina’s idea of cleaning a house was hiring a maid.

Warmth flooded the older woman’s smile. “That’s a beautiful jacket you’re wearing. The fabric is gorgeous. Cashmere? I bet you didn’t purchase it in our little town. It’s too pricey for Fern Glen.”

It was a pricey jacket. He’d bought it the winter before. He’d bought it because Trina liked him in good clothes.

Truth was, Trina liked all sorts of good things. They’d met when she brought her aging dog into the office because of a cough. Turned out the dog was allergic to cigarette smoke and Trina’s boyfriend smoked. So much for the boyfriend. Once Trina had made sure Jon didn’t have any habits that might annoy her pup, she’d whirled into his life like a tornado through a trailer park.

Not that he’d minded. Trina was a looker with a very suggestive walk and a sultry laugh. She’d introduced him to all her friends, invited him to countless Hollywood parties. She’d secured dozens of new patients for him, mostly women, all obsessed with their pets to one degree or another. He’d heard himself called the “vet to the stars,” a nickname that was good for business but made him squirm. He was learning to live with it, however, and there was no doubt that life with Trina was exhilarating. He’d been about to suggest she move in with him when his dad died.

“Must take a good job to afford such classy clothes,” Ella said.

He regarded her with new misgivings. Why was she going on like this? Was it money she was after or was it a boyfriend for her granddaughter? Or both? Had he been right about Lora’s motives?

For an instant he was disappointed. He didn’t want to be right. There was something so fresh and breezy about Lora Gifford—he’d never really met anyone quite like her. Open one moment, closed the next, fabricating details right before his eyes, biting her lip as she apparently fought her conscience when telling them.

And her looks. She was an eyeful but not in the Trina way. Lora was something of a waif, casual about her appearance, scrubbed clean and tantalizingly wholesome, but mismatched and dwarfed within her sweater and jeans.

And yet alluring, somehow.

As a matter of fact, out in that gazebo, he’d had to remind himself he wasn’t interested in her as a woman. There had been a couple of times when she’d looked at him and he’d felt his heart skip around. Was she right, had he flirted with her in his office without even knowing he was doing so?

Tonight he would call Trina and insist she venture north for a visit. He was under no illusion that she would find this remote coastline any more invigorating than he did, but if she cared for him, she would surely find time to come brighten his volunteer exile, wouldn’t she?

Back to Lora. What would make her zero in on Victor? She’d never met the man before yesterday, so why him? Was it that friend of hers, the one with the Irish Setter? Had the friend gone on and on about the friendly, kind, rich old vet? But what drove Lora to implement such a plan?

She must need money. He looked around the threadbare shop and suddenly thought he understood. He said, “This is a nice place you have.”

“It belonged to my daughter and her husband until the bum had a midlife crisis and left my Angela holding the bag,” Ella said. She pushed across the form so he could fill in the delivery details. Lowering her voice, she confided, “But Lora assured us everything will be fine, she’ll make sure the shop survives. Lora has a plan.”

“A plan?”

Ella smiled. “A plan. She won’t discuss it, it’s a big secret, but she says if things work out right, everything will be okay.”

There it was, more or less in writing. Lora’s plan to guarantee the survival of her family’s shop was simple: marry Victor.

“So what do you do for a living?” Ella asked.

“I’m a vet.”

“My brother was in the army, fought in Korea. The war didn’t kill him, but a two pack a day habit did.”

“No, I mean a doctor—”

She interrupted him with a squeal. “A doctor? How wonderful.”

“Well, of sorts. Actually—”

She interrupted him again. “How about taking out a contract to have fresh flowers delivered to your office every week? Lots of professionals do it. Flowers make your practice look very affluent.”

“Sure,” he said, surprising himself. Maybe he was tired of trying to get a word in edgewise. Maybe he thought that by taking out this contract, he’d stay connected and could keep his eye on things even after Lora moved out. If Lora moved out.

Hell, maybe he was just nuts.

Once he’d agreed, the wheels of commerce turned amazingly fast, and he left a little bit later having agreed to a year of flowers. He knew he’d have to pay for them out of his own pocket—how could he ask Victor to support such a silly thing?

As he slid into his Porsche, he reviewed what he’d learned about Lora. Some guy named Calvin had jilted her, she’d promised her family she’d take care of them, the shop was foundering.

Why did it feel so hollow to be so right?

That night he offered to do the dishes. Lora had made vegetable lasagna with a béchamel sauce for dinner and Victor was right—she could cook. She’d carted all the food into the den so Victor wouldn’t have to get out of his recliner, set the low coffee table with fresh pink flowers she said she’d found while poking around in Victor’s weed patch and entertained the older man with elaborate stories that all seemed to revolve around her mother, Angela, who was coming to weed the next day.

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