Excerpt Letter to Reader About the Author Title Page Dedication Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six Chapter Seven Chapter Eight Chapter Nine Chapter Ten Chapter Eleven Copyright

What Strange Spell Was This Refreshing, Lovely Woman Weaving Around Him?

You’d better watch your step, Dillon, Joe told himself. He usually had his guard up automatically when he was in the company of single women.

But with Polly? She was so open and honest, so far removed from the social set he was accustomed to. He found himself relaxing, just being himself, Joe Dillon, exactly as he was.

Oh, yeah. He most definitely had better watch his step in regard to Polly Chapman. He was treading on foreign turf, where lurking in the shadows there was danger of losing his heart before he knew what hit him....

Dear Reader,

Spring is in the air—and all thoughts turn toward love. With six provocative romances from Silhouette Desire, you too can enjoy a season of new beginnings...and happy endings!

Our March MAN OF THE MONTH is Lass Small’s The Best Husband in Texas. This sexy rancher is determined to win over the beautiful widow he’s loved for years! Next, Joan Elliott Pickart returns with a wonderful love story—Just My Joe. Watch sparks fly between handsome, wealthy Joe Dillon and the woman he loves.

Don’t miss Beverly Barton’s new miniseries, 3 BABIES FOR 3 BROTHERS, which begins with His Secret Child. The town golden boy is reunited with a former flame—and their child. Popular Anne Marie Winston offers the third tide in her BUTLER COUNTY BRIDES series, as a sexy heroine forms a partnership with her lost love in The Bride Means Business. Then an expectant mom matches wits with a brooding rancher in Carol Grace’s Expecting.... And Virginia Dove debuts explosively with The Bridal Promise, when star-crossed lovers marry for convenience.

This spring, please write and tell us why you read Silhouette Desire books. As part of our 20th anniversary celebration in the year 2000, we’d like to publish some of this fan mail in the books—so drop us a line, tell us how long you’ve been reading Desire books and what you love about the series. And enjoy our March titles!

Regards,

Joan Marlow Golan

Senior Editor, Silhouette Desire

Please address questions and book requests to:

Silhouette Reader Service

U.S.: 3010 Walden Ave., P.O. Box 1325, Buffalo, NY 14269

Canadian: P.O. Box 609, Fort Erie, Ont. L2A 5X3

Just My Joe

Joan Elliott Pickart

www.millsandboon.co.uk

About the Author

JOAN ELLIOTT PICKART is the author of over seventy novels. When she isn’t writing, she enjoys watching football, knitting, reading, gardening and attending craft shows on the town square. Joan has three all-grown-up daughters and a fantastic little grandson. In September of 1995, Joan traveled to China to adopt her fourth daughter, Autumn. Joan and Autumn have settled into their cozy cottage in a charming small town in the high pine country of Arizona.

For Dana, a woman of courage

beyond measure.

I love you, dear friend.

One

“Call the cops. Call the cops.”

Polly Chapman rolled her eyes heavenward as she heard the scratchy-voice command.

“Hush, Jazzy,” Polly said, then pressed on the brake as she came to a red light The ancient van she was driving shuddered and shook as it idled. “We have no need for an officer of the law.” She glanced quickly around the shabby neighborhood. “Well, not at the moment, anyway. Hold that thought, though.”

“Call the cops,” Jazzy squawked.

“Oh, brother,” Polly muttered, starting off again as the light turned green. -

She shot a glare at the talkative creature in the passenger seat. Jazzy was a brightly colored and definitely opinionated macaw that was traveling in a large, bellshaped cage. His feathers were glossy, vibrant shades of green, orange, red and yellow, and he was perched on a swing in the middle of the cage, as though determined not to miss seeing anything that might be happening.

At the next red light, Polly shifted in her seat as much as the seat belt would allow, making certain that all the doors of the vehicle were securely locked.

It had taken over an hour to drive from the northwest section of Tucson to the far south side. Now with each passing block, bleak poverty seemed to shout at her from all directions.

The buildings were old and many were decorated with sprawling graffiti, the message not always discernable. Some of the windows of stores were boarded, others whitewashed, then suddenly there would appear a store with a faded Open sign hanging on the door.

Polly frowned in dismay as she saw several people curled up in doorways, either sleeping or simply ignoring the dismal world around them. A few people strolled along the trash-cluttered sidewalk, obviously in no rush to get where they were going.

She’d heard of south Tucson, of course, but she’d never had any reason to come into this area. It had a reputation of a high crime rate, gangs on the prowl and danger. Now that she was there, she most definitely wished that she wasn’t.

She glanced quickly at the map drawn on a piece of paper next to her on the seat, then began to look for street signs, many of which were missing from the metal poles.

With a sigh of relief, Polly found the street she was seeking and turned right, the map indicating that she should go five blocks to reach her destination.

A cloud settled over the sun, dropping a gray curtain on the area and emphasizing the dreary aura of the residential neighborhood she was now driving through. The houses were small, some exhibiting an attempt at pride of ownership, others seeming to shout the message of a total lack of caring.

Polly shivered, partly from the cool temperature of the overcast November day, and partly from a sense of struggle and despair that seemed to be sifting into the van and touching her with chilling fingers.

“Call the cops,” Jazzy squawked.

“No, not the cops, Jazzy,” Polly said quietly. “What’s needed here is whole platoon of guardian angels, or fairy godmothers with magic wands.”

“Silly girl,” Jazzy said. “Silly girl.”

“Thanks a lot,” Polly said, shooting the macaw a dark glare. “I don’t know why I bother to try to have a conversation with you. You’re just so opinionated and judgmental.”

“Fix some soup,” Jazzy said.

“And sexist,” Polly added. “Fix your own dumb soup. I’m not your maid.” She shook her head. “Why am I talking to this bird? Just shut up, Polly Chapman.”

“Polly want a cracker?” Jazzy said.

“That,” she said, “is not funny. I could wring Robert’s neck for teaching you to say that.”

“Polly want a cracker?”

“No!”

Polly slowed her speed, pressed on the brake, then leaned forward for a better look, as she realized she’d found what she was searching for.

“Abraham Lincoln High School,” she said aloud. “Grim, very grim.”

The four-story building was obviously ancient, the red bricks crumbling at the corners and the windows having a strange yellow cast to them. There was another structure that appeared newer; it was to the right and behind the main building. The sign on the second, one-story creation announced that it was the Multipurpose Building.

“That’s where we’re headed, Jazzy,” Polly said. “We’re among the multipurpose rank and file today. Now to find somewhere to park.”

It was another two blocks before Polly discovered a tight-squeeze parking place on the street. She twisted the rearview mirror to check her appearance.

That’s as good as it gets, she thought. She was twenty-four years old and still got carded in bars. Nothing she tried made her look any older.

Her short, naturally curly blond hair, blue eyes and the dusting of freckles across her nose combined into a face that caused her to prove her true age time and again.

“Oh, well,” she mused, with a shrug, “look at the bright side. I’ll be the envy of the masses when I’m forty and look thirty. Right, Jazzy?”

“Right, Jazzy,” the macaw repeated.

“Write that down. You actually agreed with something I said.” Polly paused. “Well, let’s trudge back to Abraham Lincoln High School. Duty calls.”

“Show biz,” Jazzy said. “Show biz.”

“Whatever,” Polly muttered.

Joe Dillon stood at one end of the Multipurpose Building, a clipboard in his hand. He was oblivious to the high volume of noise created by five hundred students talking and laughing. An army sergeant in full uniform stood in front of Joe.

“Okay,” Joe said, making a check mark on the paper attached to the clipboard. “We appreciate your coming to career day, Sergeant. Just have a seat on one of those folding chairs behind the table.”

The sergeant nodded and walked away.

“How are we doing, Joe?”

Joe turned to see the principal of the school. Mark Jackson was in his mid-fifties, with salt-and-pepper hair and more wrinkles on his weary face than his age indicated. He was much shorter than Joe’s six feet, but Joe knew from experience that Mark was physically stronger than he appeared.

The two men not only worked together, they liked and respected each other. They were friends.

“Everyone is here except Dr. Robert Dogwood, the veterinarian. Dogwood? Do you suppose that’s his real name?”

Mark chuckled. “Who knows? Clara and I hired a baby-sitter once whose name was Ima Nanny. She swore that was what her mother christened her. I take it you’ve never met Dr. Dogwood?”

Joe shook his head. “No, I just started with A in the yellow pages of the telephone book under Veterinarians, and hit it lucky when I got to Dogwood. People in general aren’t real excited about coming into this part of town.”

“True,” Mark said, “and I don’t blame them.”

“Well, let’s give the vet five more minutes to show up,” Joe said. “If he doesn’t make an appearance by then, we’ll start without him. The troops are getting restless.”

Mark swept his gaze over the crowded bleachers.

“I hope they listen,” he said. “I want them to realize there’s a way out of this part of town. If they’d just buckle down and study, choose a career goal, have a dream, a...” Mark sighed. “Well, this is our first attempt at a career day. There’s no telling how it will be received by the students.”

“Nope,” Joe said, smiling. “There’s no secondguessing these guys, Mark. That’s just one of the things that makes teaching at Lincoln so...shall we say...challenging?”

Mark laughed. “That’s a polite word for it But you and I sign new contracts every year. We’re either dedicated, or dumb.” His smile faded. “Who am I kidding? We belong here, honestly believe we might make a difference, reach a few of these frustrated, angry kids.”

“Yep,” Joe said, nodding. “I’m not going anywhere. I’m in for the long haul.”

“And I’m grateful for that,” Mark said. “I’d hate to be doing this without you on my staff.”

“Don’t get mushy on me, Mark.” Joe glanced toward the door at the other end of the building. “Well, Dr. Dogwood is a no-show, I guess. So, let the games begin.”

“All right I’ll quiet the inmates down, then turn the microphone over to you, since you’re the one who coordinated the whole thing.”

“Go for it,” Joe said, then watched the principal walk away.

Mark was a good man, he thought. He’d grown up in a neighborhood like this one in Detroit, understood these students and what they were up against. He and his family lived in a nice home on the northwest side, but Mark was dedicated to helping these kids, would stay at Lincoln until he retired.

Joe swept his gaze over the noisy crowd.

And Joe Dillon? he mused. He came from a far different upbringing. His family was wealthy and he’d had every materialistic whim met and then some. He’d taken it all for granted. He wanted it, he got it, no questions asked, and the image of it all in his mind made him cringe.

Ten years ago he’d decided it was payback time. He’d walked away from the world of money, except for the occasional appearances at megabucks events to keep his parents happy.

He worked in the ghetto. Lived in the ghetto. Breathed the air in the ghetto. It was the only way to really relate to these kids, be the kind of teacher he was determined to be. He lacked Mark’s firsthand knowledge of this life, but he was making up for it in his own way.

Sacrifices? Joe mentally wandered on. Yeah, sure, he’d made sacrifices. The biggest one, he supposed, was the fact that he would never marry and have a family. He couldn’t ask a wife and children to live down here and he had every intention of staying. So be it.

As the years went by, he had less patience and tolerance for the idle rich, the jet-set crowd, those who refused to address anything beyond their selfish pleasures. They pretended that neighborhoods like this one, kids like these, didn’t exist. Damn.

Enough, Dillon, he told himself. The vet had obviously gotten cold feet. It was time to get this show on the road.

The two-block walk back to the school seemed more like twenty to Polly as the weight of Jazzy’s heavy cage began to make her hand, arm and shoulder ache.

Arriving at last outside the wide double doors of the Multipurpose Building, Polly stopped to catch her breath and regain her composure. She blew a puff of air up over her face, ruffling the curls on her forehead.

“Well, here we go, Jazzy,” she said.

She pulled open one of the doors and stepped inside to hear an amplified man’s voice say, “...who put in many hours to make this career day at Abraham Lincoln possible. Ladies and gentlemen, please show your appreciation to our own Coach Dillon.”

Polly took another step, then stopped dead in her tracks with a gasp of shock as the student’s appreciation erupted at full volume. They applauded, hooted and hollered, stamped their feet in a rumbling rhythm on the bleachers and whistled shrilly.

“Good grief,” Polly muttered, then frowned. Heavens, she thought, she had to cover the entire length of the building to reach the ever-famous and much-appreciated Coach Dillon and the other people, who were seated on folding chairs. With a chatty bird in a cage, she was about to parade in front of several hundred students.

“Thank you,” Joe said, raising both hands for silence.

Polly started tentatively forward.

The students quieted slowly, then silence fell.

Polly lifted her chin and kept moving.

“The purpose of this first career day at Lincoln,” Joe continued, “is to give all of you the opportunity to...”

“Call the cops,” Jazzy squawked, loud and clear.

The students whooped with laughter.

“No way, Bird Lady,” a boy shouted. “The cops come calling on me more than I want to see them.”

Polly felt a warm flush stain her cheeks as she quickened her step, mentally clicking off ways to murder Jazzy.

What in the hell... Joe thought frowning, as the noise level increased to full volume again. Who was this? It sure wasn’t the Dr. Robert Dogwood he’d spoken to on the telephone. It was some kid with a talking bird, who had managed to totally disrupt the program before it had hardly begun.

No, wait a minute. The girl had to have been sent by the vet. Otherwise, it didn’t make any sense for her to be here. He didn’t envy her the walk she was marking, that was for sure. Well, she was getting closer now and...

Whoa, Joe thought. That wasn’t a kid, it was most definitely a woman. A very pretty—in a fresh, wholesome way—woman. She was wearing pale blue slacks that defined her feminine curves and a dark blue blouse that hinted at womanly breasts beneath it.

Oh, yes, she was young, but she was a woman, no doubt about it. He was going to take pity on her and escort her past the remaining students.

Joe came from behind the table and strode toward the woman carrying the birdcage, his long legs covering the distance in short order.

Polly stopped and looked up at the man she now knew to be Coach Dillon.

“I...” she began, then forgot what she was about to say.

My stars, she thought. In the midst of this embarrassing chaos she was in close proximity to one of the most ruggedly handsome men she’d ever seen.

Oh, yes, one certainly should appreciate Coach Dillon. He was tall, with wide shoulders, his chiseled features were tan, his dark brown hair thick and in need of a trim, and his yummy eyes were the color of fudge sauce.

“I’m sorry I’m late,” Polly said, amazed she had enough air in her lungs to speak. “I couldn’t find a place to park and I had to walk a couple of blocks. This cage is heavy, so I had to set it down once and...”

“You’re not Dr. Dogwood,” Joe said, frowning. Very, very pretty, now that he was close enough for a full perusal. But how old was she? Twenty? Twenty-two? Twenty-five? He really couldn’t tell. “I’m assuming he sent you, though?”

“Yes. Robert had an emergency surgery to perform. His wife, Dr. Nancy Dogwood, is covering the appointments at the clinic. I’m Ms. Polly Chapman, a veterinary technician.”

“I see,” Joe said.

“I’ve never done anything like this before. I have no idea what you want me to say, Coach Dillon. Robert didn’t have time to explain things to me.”

“It’s Joe...Polly. You won’t be first on the program, so you’ll have a chance to hear some of the others speak before it’s your turn. May I carry your bird for you?”

“What? Oh. Yes, thank you.”

Polly lifted Jazzy’s cage and Joe slid his fingers through the brass ring at the top, brushing Polly’s fingers as she released her hold. A sudden and startling heat exploded from the feathery touch, shooting up both Polly and Joe’s arms.

Their eyes collided with matching confusion; summer-sky blue eyes and eyes of fudge-sauce brown.

“Wanna snuggle, bunny?” Jazzy squawked.

Polly snapped her head around to glare at the bird.

“Jazzy, for heaven’s sake,” she scolded, “hush.”

Joe spun on his heel and strode back to the area containing the table and chairs, Polly following more slowly behind him.

Gracious, she thought, what a strange sensation that had been when her hand had met with Joe Dillon’s. She could still feel the heat tingling along her arm and across her breasts.

It was probably static electricity.

No, she thought, in the next instant. That was an easy-out explanation, but she somehow knew it wasn’t true. It had been a man-woman thing, a sensuous something, that was disconcerting, to say the least.

Joe Dillon was one of those dangerous men who oozed blatant masculinity by doing nothing more than standing there. He was the type who had to beat women off with a stick. Oh, yes, Joe was very, very dangerous.

Polly settled onto a folding chair, smiled politely at the people on either side of her, then nodded her thanks to Joe as he set Jazzy’s cage on the floor in front of her. She folded her hands primly in her lap and plastered what she hoped was a pleasant, professional expression on her face.

Only then did she realize she was seated directly behind Joe, where he was now standing at the microphone on the table.

My, my, Polly thought, such delectable scenery. Coach Dillon certainly did have a nice tush, and those long, beautifully muscled legs weren’t too shabby, either. The man just didn’t quit. He had it all, from head to toe.

Oh, goodness, there was that heat again, only this time it was traveling in the opposite direction, swirling low within her. This would never do. She didn’t have reactions like this to men she’d known for about three seconds. She didn’t have reactions like this to men she’d known for three years.

Enough was enough. She was going to quit staring at Joe Dillon’s buns and get herself back under control.

Slowly and admittedly a tad reluctantly, Polly shifted her gaze to the side wall of the building, where a huge, snarling head of a bear had been painted with vivid yellow and blue colors. Beneath the bear was the blockletter word Grizzlies.

That must be the school mascot, Polly thought absently. The Abraham Lincoln Grizzlies. How nice. The years in high school were such fun. But then again, maybe they weren’t for the kids in this neighborhood. That was a depressing thought.

“Polly want a cracker?” Jazzy said.

“Shh,” she whispered, nudging the cage with her toe.

Joe fiddled with the papers he’d picked up from the table, then cleared his throat.

Lord, he thought, he felt like he’d been punched in the gut. When his fingers had slid over Polly Chapman’s, heat had rocketed up his arm, then slammed into his lower body.

That wholesome-looking, freckles-on-her-cute-nose woman had had a potent impact on him. He wasn’t accustomed to things like that happening to him, and he didn’t like it, not one damn bit.

Cripes, Polly wasn’t even his type. He didn’t keep company with women who looked like they could be a model for a box of cornflakes. He dated savvy gals, the single scene game players who knew the rules. No one got hurt, and a good time was had by all.

Enough mental talking to yourself, Dillon, he thought. If he didn’t get this show on the road, he’d have a mutiny on his hands. The natives of Lincoln High were definitely getting restless.

“Okay, ladies and gentlemen,” he said, speaking into the microphone, “settle down, please.”

“Bring on the Bird Lady, Coach,” a boy yelled. “We want the Bird Lady.”

The students cheered and stamped their feet, obviously in favor of the hollered request.

Oh, dear heaven, Polly thought, the building was going to fall down. All those stamping feet pounding on the bleachers was creating a deafening roar. Well, Joe Dillon, who must coach something or other, better not make her speak before the others, because she had absolutely no idea what to say.

“Chill,” Joe said, slicing one hand through the air. “Now.”

Silence fell so quickly it was as though someone had pulled the plug on a boom box.

“All right,” Joe said. “This career day is being presented for you, and I respect the fact that you should have some say in how it’s conducted. Therefore, please welcome Ms. Polly Chapman.”

Joe turned and smiled at Polly, who glowered at him and stayed glued to her chair. Joe closed the short distance between them and bent over slightly to speak to her.

“Look, I’m sorry,” he said. “If I try to cram this program down their throats they’ll tune out from word one. You’ve peaked their curiosity and that’s terrific.”

“Terrific?” Polly said, raising her eyebrows. “What am I supposed to say?”

“Just tell them what you do and the kind of training it required to be able to do whatever it is you do.” Joe shrugged. “Wing it.” He chuckled. “That wasn’t a pun, Bird Lady.”

“Cute,” Polly muttered.

Joe smiled his best hundred-watt smile, picked up Jazzy’s cage and returned to the table, placing the cage in front of the microphone.

“Oh, dear, dear,” Polly mumbled, getting to her feet.

Joe stepped back to allow Polly access to the microphone. Polly moved to the table, then out of the corner of her eye she saw Joe settle onto the chair she’d vacated.

Her eyes widened as she remembered the clear view of Joe’s tush she’d had while sitting in that chair. She was going to have enough difficulty talking to this rowdy audience without knowing that Joe Dillon was probably indulging in a thorough scrutiny of her bottom.

Polly spun around. “You can’t sit there.”

“Why not?” Joe asked, confusion evident on his face.

“Because you’re making me nervous by sitting there.”

“Why? A chair, is a chair, is a chair.”

“Shoo,” Polly said, flapping her hands at him. “Go somewhere else.”

Joe planted his hands on his thighs and pushed himself to his feet.

“Yes, ma‘am,” he said. “Whatever you say, ma’am.”

“Thank you,” Polly said, then turned back to the microphone.

Joe sat down again in his chair.

“Good morning,” Polly said, sweeping her gaze over the students. “I’m Polly Chapman and I’d like to thank you for inviting me here.”

Ho-ho, Joe thought. No wonder Polly was all in a flutter about his having taken up residency in her chair. The pretty lady had executed a perusal of his butt, and figured he’d do the same to her.

How right she was.

And what a nice, feminine bottom Ms. Chapman had.

An instant later Joe frowned as he felt that heat again, that damnable heat, coiling deep and low within him.

This was ridiculous, he thought, with self-disgust. His body was reacting to Polly Chapman the way one of his students with a hormone rush might.

He wasn’t a randy seventeen-year-old, for Pete’s sake. He was a mature, in control, thirty-three-year-old man. The absurd effect Polly was having on him was becoming very, very tiresome.

So, quit staring at the woman’s delectable rear end, Joe ordered himself.

He shifted his gaze to the back of Polly’s head and immediately wondered what those silky-appearing, blond curls would feel like sliding through his fingers.

That’s it, he thought, getting to his feet. He’d definitely had enough of sitting in this chair.

Joe moved to the end of the table and crossed his arms over his chest. Polly looked at him questioningly.

“Carry on,” he said. “Ignore me.”

Oh, right, she thought dryly. About the last thing a woman would be able to do in regard to Mr. Masculinity Personified Dillon was to ignore him. He was so male and so incredibly there.

“Yes, well,” Polly said, directing her attention to the students again, “ever since I was a little girl I wanted to be a veterinarian. I was always toting home dogs, cats, birds, frogs, anything and everything that I was convinced needed my tender loving care.

“That dream for my future career didn’t dim as I grew older, but I had to face reality. The amount of money it would take to become a vet was far beyond my reach. Even with the numerous resources available for student loans, my dream was not obtainable.”

Joe swept his gaze over the students, seeing their rapt attention, hearing the total silence as five hundred pairs of eyes remained riveted on Polly.

She had them, he thought. These kids knew, they understood, about dreams that would never come true. Keep talking, Polly. They’re listening to every word you’re saying.

“To my utmost joy,” Polly continued, “I discovered a program of study at the University of Arizona that would enable me to become a veterinary technician in half the time and less than half the cost of the veterinary medicine program.

“So, I looked at the bright side, saw a way to be included in the career arena I’d dreamed about, even if it wasn’t in the capacity I had initially hoped for. For several years now I’ve been employed by Dr. Robert and Dr. Nancy Dogwood, a husband-and-wife veterinarian team who have an office on the northwest side of town.”

“So what do they let you do, Bird Lady?” someone yelled. “Poop scoop after the dogs and cats have been there?”

Polly laughed. “Sometimes. But I’m capable of giving examinations, inoculations, doing follow-up treatment of animals who have had surgery—and the list goes on. It’s very rewarding, very fulfilling.”

“That’s cool,” a girl said. “So, what’s with the bird?”

“This is Jazzy,” Polly said. “In addition to their regular practice, the Dogwoods also offer a boarding service for pets. I thought it might be fun to bring Jazzy with me today. His owners are in Europe for six months.”

“Oh, ain’t that a shame?” a boy quipped.

Be careful, Polly, Joe mentally directed. Don’t cross over the line into a world where these kids will never go. Don’t lose them now.

Polly flipped open the door of the cage and Jazzy hopped out onto the table.

“Jazzy is a macaw,” Polly said. “Some of you heard him speak earlier. He has an uncanny knack of saying things that fit the moment, making a person believe, at times, that he’s carrying on a conversation. That, of course, is impossible. Anyway, I took extra classes in the care of exotic birds after the Dogwoods hired me, because they board an amazing number of them during the year.”

“Give me a kiss, hot stuff,” Jazzy squawked.

“How much does one of those fancy birds cost?” a girl asked.

Uh-oh, Joe thought.

“Jazzy comes from a long line of champion macaws,” Polly said pleasantly. “He’s worth...”

Don’t say it, Polly, Joe silently begged. Tell them you have no idea what the stupid bird is valued at.

“...I’d say,” Polly said, “probably several thousands of dollars.”

Oh, hell, Joe thought.

Polly blinked in surprise as the students erupted in boos, whistles and thumbs-down gestures.

What was going on? she thought frantically. The students had been listening to her; she knew they had. They’d been sincerely interested in what she had been saying. What had suddenly gone wrong?

Joe stepped in front of the table and raised his hands.

“Quiet down,” he shouted. “Knock it off. I understand where you’re coming from, but there’s no excuse for being rude.”

Well, she was glad Joe understood where the now angry and obviously upset students were “coming from,” Polly thought, wrapping her hands around her elbows in a protective gesture. She didn’t have a clue.

“You’re pushing me,” Joe hollered. “Knock...it... off.”

Then Polly watched in wide-eyed horror as Jazzy waddled to the edge of the front of the table, ruffled his feathers, then proceeded to bite Joe Dillon on the right side of his oh-so-gorgeous tush!

Two

It was bedlam.

Joe roared as the message of a sudden, sharp pain reached his brain, then he spun around, fury very evident on his face. Jazzy made a beeline for the cage and hustled inside. Polly quickly shut and locked the door.

The students went wild; laughing, hooting, pointing at Joe in obvious delight at what had transpired. The pounding of feet on the bleachers began again and three cheers of hip, hip, hooray were executed in Jazzy’s honor.

I want to go home, Polly thought frantically.

Mark Jackson left his chair and came to the table.

“I’ll take over,” he told Joe. “You’d better exit stage left with Ms. Chapman and the felon.” He grinned. “Do you need to see a doctor about your wound?”

“No,” Joe said, his jaw tight. “I need to find a recipe for barbecued macaw.”

“That’s not fair,” Polly said. “Jazzy was upset by the noise and acted out of character. He has never bitten anyone before. He was shook-up and your...your posterior was right in front of him and...”

“Save it,” Joe said gruffly.

He snatched up the cage, then came around the table to grip Polly’s upper arm.

“We’re outta here,” he said.

“Bye, Bird Lady,” a chorus of students sang out. “Bye, Jazzy.”

Polly smiled and waggled the fingers of her free hand in farewell. In the next instant she was nearly lifted off her feet as Joe began to haul her toward the side entrance to the building. Mark Jackson stepped up to the microphone.

“Okay, we’ve had some fun,” the principal said, “but it’s time to get serious. Quiet down. Our next speaker is...”

Before Polly knew the identity of the next speaker, she was propelled outside, the door clanging shut behind her, Jazzy and Joe. Joe set the cage on the ground, then rubbed the area of his anatomy that had been attacked.

“Damn it, that really hurt,” he said, glowering at Polly. “Not only that, but your stupid bird made me look like a fool in front of the students.”

“It wasn’t Jazzy’s fault.” Polly poked her nose in the air and folded her arms beneath her breasts. “He was frightened. I mean, heavens, so was I. One minute I was giving my nifty little speech and the next thing I knew the students went berserk. What did I do wrong?”

Joe sighed and picked up the cage.

“Come on, Polly,” he said. “I’ll walk you to your car. I purposely invited men to be the speakers today. I know there’s limited parking around the school, and it wasn’t my intention to have a woman wandering alone in this section of town.”

Polly laughed. “No one would dare bother me. I have an attack bird for protection.” She glanced up at Joe’s stormy expression. “Sorry. I was just trying to lighten the mood here. Look at the bright side, Joe. Jazzy could have clamped on to your...your person and refused to let go. Now that would have been very embarrassing.” She nodded decisively.

“Your car, Polly?” Joe said, no hint of a smile on his face.

Polly moved around him. “Okay, fine. It’s two blocks away.”

Joe fell in step beside Polly as they left the school grounds. Jazzy was blessedly silent.

“Well?” Polly asked finally, after they’d gone a half a block without speaking. “Are you going to tell me what giant mistake I made during my speech?”

“You don’t have even the slightest clue, do you?” Joe glared at Polly, then shook his head. “You just don’t get it.”

“Obviously not.”

“Look, you started out just fine, really great, in fact. You hit those kids where they live with your story of having a dream, but realizing you didn’t have the financial resources to achieve it. You definitely had their interest and full attention.”

“Hooray for me,” Polly said dryly. “It sure didn’t last long.”

“You were stopped short of your goal, your dream,” Joe continued, “but found a way to be connected to the field you wanted to be in. Then? Hell, you blew it.”

“What did I do?” Polly said, nearly yelling.

“Jazzy’s owners are in Europe for six months? This stupid bird cost thousands of dollars? Come on, Polly, get real.”

“What I said was true.”

“And that’s the problem. Don’t you see?” Joe said, none too quietly. “In the eyes of those kids you sold out. You struggled, you settled for less than you originally dreamed of, then you ran, did not walk, into the world of the idle rich.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Polly said. “The Dogwoods offered me a job and I took it. That’s what most people do when they need to pay the rent and buy food. What difference does it make where I’m employed to enable me to use the skills I worked so hard to obtain?”

“It makes a very big difference, Ms. Chapman. You could be with an open veterinary clinic in a low-income neighborhood. Or the Humane Society. Or be the veterinary technician for one of those organizations that finds families for homeless animals.

“But, oh, no, not you. You’re baby-sitting idiot birds that cost more than some of those kids’ parents make in six months. You copped out on your roots, on who you are, and those students knew it.”

“Call the cops,” Jazzy said. “Call the cops.”

Polly stopped walking, causing Joe to halt his step. She looked up at him, her blue eyes flashing with anger.

“Wait just a minute here,” she said. “You agree with those kids, don’t you? You’re expressing your own views about me, as well as theirs. Right? Isn’t that right, Joe? You’re standing in judgment of me, just like those students did.”

“Damn straight I am. You were in a position to give something back to the world you came from. Instead? You’re hobnobbing with the rich and famous, who go to Europe for six months and think spending thousands of dollars on a bird is chump change. Yeah, I agree with the students of Abraham Lincoln High School. You sold out, Polly Chapman.”

“And you’re certifiably insane, Joe Dillon.”

Polly spun around and started off again. Joe strode after her.

“Totally nuts, that’s what you are,” Polly raged on. “Oh-h-h, you’re infuriating. How dare you pass judgment on me? You’ve got a lot of nerve, do you know that? I work very hard for my paycheck and... No, forget it. I’m not justifying myself and my existence to you. You don’t know the first thing about me.”

“I know every word you said in your crummy speech, lady.”

“Well, excuse me to hell and back for making a living, Mr. Dillon, for keeping a roof over my head and food on my table.”

“Hell, I can’t get through to you, make you understand. I’m wasting my breath.”

“Oh, yes, do save your breath. I’m sure it takes an extra dose to be so full of hot air.” Polly executed an indignant little sniff. “You talk the talk, but do you walk the walk?”

“Meaning?”

“Does the lack of a wedding ring on your hand indicate that you’re single?”

“Yes.”

“So, you’re a single man, who has probably been teaching for a dozen years, or more. I imagine that adds up to what would be considered a sizable salary in this particular neighborhood.

“You arrive at Abraham Lincoln high every morning with your holier-than-thou attitude. But at day’s end? What part of town do you drive home to, Joe? What cushy, comfortable section of Tucson do you live in?”

Polly stomped off the curb and around to the driver’s side of her van, pulling her keys from her pocket as she went

“Well, that question is easy enough to answer,” Joe said, coming up behind her.

Polly unlocked the door. “Do tell.”

“What a convenient coincidence. You’re parked in front of the house I rent. This is the cushy part of Tucson where I reside, Ms. Chapman. I talk the talk and, by damn, I walk the walk.”

Polly opened her mouth with every intention of telling Joe that his sense of humor left a lot to be desired. She snapped her mouth closed again in the next instant, as the thought struck her that maybe he wasn’t kidding about her being parked in front of his house.

She moved to the left to enable her to see the structure in question clearly, her eyes widening.

The house was a small wood frame with several different-colored shingles on the roof. It was obviously old, but appeared well cared for. It was painted beige with dark brown trim, had a narrow porch that held two lawn chairs, and the minuscule front yard was covered in dark brown-colored gravel.

It was, without a doubt, Polly decided, the most tended-to looking house on the block, but that still didn’t mean it was where Joe Dillon lived. It just didn’t make one iota of sense for a man with his income to live in this high-crime part of town.

“You don’t believe me, do you?” Joe said.

“I’m thinking it over,” Polly said, still staring at the house. “I simply can’t get a grip on why you would choose to live...well, in the ghetto if you don’t have to.”

She looked at Joe, a puzzled expression on her face.

“The career day you organized at the school,” she continued, “is proof that you want your students to have hopes and dreams of a better life. You were attempting to show them that there are ways to get out of this environment. Why, Joe? Why would you intentionally remain here if you aren’t forced to?”

Polly shifted her gaze back to the house. “No, I’m not certain I believe that you live here. There’s no rhyme or reason for it.”

“Come on,” Joe said. “I’ll prove it to you.”

“Don’t you have classes to teach?”

“The career day assembly will last all morning. I’ll be back at the school in time for my next scheduled class. Are you coming?”

“Why not?” Polly said, throwing up her hands. “So far my day has been totally bizarre. What’s one more layer on the cake?”

“Cake and ice cream,” Jazzy said, “and a bottle of beer.”

“That’s a gross combination, Jazzy,” Polly said.

“Polly want a cracker?” the bird said.

“Oh, hush,” she said.

“I suppose I’d better hold on to this cage and not put it in the van,” Joe said. “After all, this mound of feathers is worth thousands of dollars.”

“Don’t start that again,” Polly said, frowning. “I’m not the one who determined the monetary worth of champion-line macaws.”

“No, you’re just the one who baby-sits them while the owners are in Europe for six months.” Joe moved past her and started toward the house. “What a terrific contribution to society you make, Ms. Chapman.”

Polly sighed and followed Joe up the cracked, cement sidewalk leading to the little house.

On the porch, Joe raised one eyebrow and cocked his head toward the black metal mailbox mounted next to the door. The name Dillon was spelled out on the front of the mailbox in white, stick-on letters. He removed some keys from his pocket.

“All right,” Polly said. “That’s enough. I believe that you live here. I can’t fathom why you do, but I’ll concede that this is your house.”

“Don’t you want a tour of the mansion?”

“I’m not in the habit of entering the homes of strange men I don’t even know,” she said, with a little sniff. “And you, sir, are very strange.”

Joe chuckled despite his determination not to. A funny shiver Buttered down Polly’s spine at the sound of the deep, masculine rumble. The smile that had touched Joe’s lips disappeared in the next second.

“Like I said, you just don’t get it,” he said. “How can I relate to my students, really understand them, if I don’t live in the reality of their world?”

He narrowed his eyes as he looked directly at Polly.

“You?” he said. “You function in a sphere of wealth, cater to the rich, who indulge themselves in such nonsense as expensive birds for pets.

“You rose above what were obviously humble beginnings, then turned your back on your reality, instead of giving something back. Am I even close to getting through to you, Polly?”

“You’re coming across loud and clear,” she said. “You’re a judgmental, narrow-minded man, with a mind-set that isn’t open for any kind of discussion. You pass censure on people you don’t even know, having no clue as to their personal circumstances.”

“I...”

“Guess what, Joe Dillon? I don’t like you. You might be the most blatantly sexy man I’ve ever met, but big macho deal. Give me the bird, Joe.”

“What?” Joe said, with a burst of laughter.

“You know what I mean,” Polly said, snatching the heavy cage from Joe’s hand. “I’m leaving. Now. I suppose I should be polite and say it was a pleasure to meet you, but it wasn’t. This entire experience has been grim. Goodbye, Mr. Dillon.”

Joe frowned as Polly left the porch and started down the sidewalk, heading for the van.

“Polly, wait,” he said.

“No!”

Joe watched as Polly maneuvered the van carefully out of the tight parking space. He had a smile and a wave ready to execute if Polly should glance back in his direction.

But she didn’t.

And within minutes she had chugged out of his view in the rattling vehicle.

With a sigh and a shake of his head, Joe sank onto one of the lawn chairs and dragged both hands down his face.

Lord, he was jerk, he thought, in self-disgust. Yes, he believed in what he was doing by living in the ghetto so as to better understand the students he taught who existed in this environment. He’d called this little frame house his home for nearly ten years.

But he’d hammered his convictions at Polly, had jumped all over her like a fanatic who gave no quarter to anyone’s opinion that didn’t match his own.

He’d been a totally obnoxious, overbearing, narrow-minded jerk.

Joe rested his elbows on his knees, laced his fingers loosely together and stared into space.

He knew why he’d behaved the way he had toward Polly Chapman. She’d picked up the price tag for the previous evening spent at his parents’ house. The hours with his folks had been worse than usual, and he’d arrived home wired, angry, unable to sleep for more than snatches at a time during the long night.

So what did he do? He slam-dunked the first person who crossed his path who even hinted at embracing the world of money. Damn.

Polly had not deserved the way he had treated her. So, okay, he believed she had sold out, was catering to the idle rich when she was in a position to give something back to the world she had come from.

But Polly had been right when she’d accused him of passing judgment on her without knowing her personal circumstances. He’d never done that to anyone before and he definitely felt like the scum of the earth for doing it to Polly.

With a muttered expletive, Joe planted his hands on his thighs and pushed himself to his feet.

He had to apologize to Polly, he thought, stepping off the porch. He still believed in what he’d said, but that didn’t excuse the way he’d said it. It was a conditional apology, he supposed, but one that definitely needed to be extended.

“What a lousy day,” he said aloud, as he began his trek back to the school. “Polly want a cracker? No, Polly Chapman would probably like to punch me right in the nose.”

Polly was so furious that she was halfway back to the office before she realized it. She blinked, telling herself to pay attention to the surging traffic, then sighed as a wave of fatigue swept over her.

She wasn’t accustomed to engaging in confrontations like the one she’d had with Joe Dillon. It had left her emotionally drained, so exhausted she could weep.

She had to forget it, push the disturbing memories from her mind, along with the lingering images of Joe. The entire morning and the people involved in it were going to be erased from her brain.

Somehow.

“Give me the bird, Joe,” Jazzy squawked. “Joe. Joe. Give me the bird.”

“Oh, great, just dandy,” Polly said, shooting a glare at the macaw. “Shut up, Jazzy.”

“Shut up, Jazzy. Give me the bird, Joe.”

Polly mumbled a very unladylike word and forced herself to concentrate on her driving.

Doctors Nancy and Robert Dogwood were an attractive, friendly couple in their early forties. They’d chosen not to have children, stating that their maternal and paternal instincts were lavished on the animals they cared for. They were both standing by the receptionist’s desk when Polly entered the office.

“There they are,” Robert said, smiling. “Our ambassadors to Abraham Lincoln High School. How did it go, Polly?”

Polly hoisted the heavy cage up onto the counter.

“Give me the bird, Joe,” Jazzy squawked.

“I beg your pardon?” Nancy said, laughing. “That’s a new one. I hope he forgets it before his owners return. So, Polly? Who’s Joe?”

“It must be Joe Dillon,” Robert said, “the teacher who called to ask if I’d speak at the career day assembly. You don’t look too happy, Polly. Did something go wrong at the school?”

“Everything went wrong,” Polly said miserably. She plunked her elbows on the counter and rested her chin in her hands. “Students in that part of town get a tad hostile when you tell them a bird costs thousands of dollars and its owners are gallivanting around Europe.”

“Whew,” Robert said. “I never thought of that. I’m sure I would have rattled off the same information if I had given the speech.”

“Yes, well, Joe Dillon seemed to think I should have known better than to divulge that data. He was not pleased with me. Then to add spice to the soup, Jazzy bit Joe on the tush in front of all the students.”

“Oh, good heavens,” Nancy said, laughing. “You poor dear. What an awful morning you’ve had.”

Polly nodded, mentally cataloging the things she couldn’t, wouldn’t, share with her employers, who were also her friends.

To relate how Joe Dillon had accused her of selling out by working for the Dogwoods was a direct, negative reflection on the doctors themselves. That they definitely didn’t need to hear.

And she certainly wasn’t confessing to the strange, sensual reaction she’d had to Joe Dillon, nor the fact that there was still a lingering heat simmering within her that had been caused by Joe’s touch.

“Go to lunch, Polly,” Robert said. “You look done in. I sincerely apologize for sending you to the school in my place.”

“It wasn’t your fault it was a disaster.” Polly glanced at the empty chair that belonged to the receptionist. “Don’t you want me to cover the phone, per usual, while Becky is at lunch?”

“I’ll do it,” Nancy said. “We’re on schedule here. The next appointment isn’t for an hour. We’re waiting for the restaurant to deliver Pookie’s food.”

“Pookie the poodle is having her meals catered by a restaurant while she’s boarding here?” Polly said.

“Yep,” Robert said, smiling. “Isn’t that a hoot? No ordinary canned dog food for that pooch. Today she’s having custom-made dog food and a few thin slices of medium-rare steak. Do you think she’d notice if I ate the steak?”

“She’d notice,” Nancy said. “Don’t you dare take one bite of that meat when it arrives.”

Catered restaurant meals for a poodle? Polly thought incredulously. How many of Joe Dillon’s students had ever had thinly sliced steak, or eaten in a place fancy enough to serve it? She’d never even dined in an establishment like that.

If the students at Abraham Lincoln High School knew about Pookie’s culinary delights, Joe would probably have a riot on his hands.

“Don’t...don’t you think that this nonsense about Pookie’s food is a bit much?” she asked.

Robert shrugged. “The Hendersons can afford it. Pookie is like a child to them. They never would have boarded her if it wasn’t for a family emergency back east. They’ve already called twice to check on their little darling. Once from the airport and then from the plane, thirty thousand feet up in the clouds.”

“Oh, good grief,” Polly said.

“I think it’s sweet,” Nancy said. “We see our share of abused and abandoned animals. The Hendersons love Pookie and have no qualms about letting it be known how they feel about her. There’s no harm in that.”

“But...” Polly began, then stopped speaking and pressed her fingertips to her throbbing temples. “Forget it. I have a killer headache, my mind is mush, and the events of this morning are a nightmare I intend to erase from my memory bank.”

“Go to lunch and take extra time,” Nancy said.

“Yes, all right,” Polly said. “I’ll get my brown bag from the refrigerator and go eat in the park. That ought to fix me right up.”

“Give me the bird, Joe,” Jazzy hollered.

“Oops,” Robert said, lifting Jazzy’s cage from the counter. “You’re going out of sight, Jazzy. Polly definitely has murder on her agenda in regard to you. Come on, I’ll give you a piece of apple.”

“Apple,” Jazzy repeated. “Apple and a bottle of beer.”

Robert left the reception area with the chattering bird.

“Polly, are you really all right?” Nancy asked, frowning. “You’re awfully pale.”

“I’ll be fine,” she said, managing to produce a small smile. “This morning’s adventure was rather unsettling, that’s all. After some food and bit of peace and quiet in the park, I’ll be as good as new.”

The bell over the door chimed as someone entered the office.

“Oh, here’s Pookie’s lunch,” Nancy said.

“I’m gone.” Polly hurried away in the direction of the back room where her packed lunch was waiting in the refrigerator. “Thinly sliced steak? Cripes, I’m having peanut butter and jelly.”

Three

The next morning, Polly sat at the round wooden table placed in front of the windows at one end of her narrow kitchen.

Sipping from a mug of hot tea, she willed the brew to infuse her with energy, render her wide-awake and ready to face the new day with vigor and enthusiasm.

It didn’t work.

She plunked her elbows on the table, nestled her chin in her hands, then closed her eyes.

She was so-o-o tired, she thought. She’d hardly slept last night, had tossed and turned for hours. When she did manage to doze off she’d dreamed about Joe Dillon, the rotten bum.

In one of her dumb dreams, Joe had been decked out in a tuxedo and was waltzing with a six-foot macaw wearing a top hat. The bird was the same colors as Jazzy and she knew, just knew, that the trouble-making creature had been in subconscious cahoots with Joe to rob her of blissful, peaceful slumber.

But then the scene had shifted to a misty clearing in a wood. The trees had leaves of glittering silver that shimmered like a million stars.

Joe was still wearing the tuxedo, but this time she was his dance partner, emerging from the ring of magical trees in a gorgeous, full-length dress to step into his embrace.

Polly sighed wistfully as she allowed the dream to replay in her mind like a movie.

What an elegant couple they made as they waltzed to music that was floating over them from a source unknown.

Even now, in the light of the new day, she could remember the heat of passion that had suffused her in the dream, and could vividly recall the desire radiating from Joe’s compelling brown eyes as he kept his gaze riveted on her.

He’d dipped his head and she’d known, and gloried in the fact, that he was about to claim her lips in what would be a searing kiss.

Closer and closer his lips had come to hers. Closer and closer and then...

“I woke up,” Polly said, opening her eyes and smacking the table with the palm of one hand. “Drat. No, forget it. I wouldn’t want to kiss that grouchy, opinionated man anyway.”

Joe Dillon was a menace. He was totally disrupting her peace of mind. Granted, her quiet lunch in the park yesterday had soothed her jangled nerves regarding the angry outburst from the students at Lincoln high.

She understood why she’d upset those kids, although she still felt it wasn’t her fault. She should have been coached about what to say, or not say, before being thrown unprepared on the mercy of the Abraham Lincoln Grizzlies.

So, live and learn, and put the disastrous morning behind her. Fine. But as she’d left the pretty park to return to the office, the image of Joe came with her and refused to budge from her mental vision for the remainder of the day.

And the long, long hours of the night.

“Darn him,” Polly said.

She sipped some more tea, then swept her gaze over her small apartment. From where she was sitting she could see the living room, with its sofa, easy chair, rocker and television set. Out of her view was the bedroom and bathroom.

The sofa and chair were a splash of vibrantly colored flowers. The rocker was the one her mother had used to lull her babies to sleep.

This was usually one of her favorite times of the day in her little abode, she thought, with the morning sun streaming in the sparkling clean windows, touching everything with a warm, golden glow.

But not today.

Not with Joe Dillon still haunting her, seeming so close, so real, she might as well offer him a cup of tea.

Why? she thought, aware of a bubble of anger growing within her.

Why couldn’t she dismiss Joe Dillon, along with the memories of the fiasco at the school?

Why could she still feel that incredible heat that had suffused her when their hands had brushed against each other?

Why could she hear that rumbly, sexy chuckle of Joe’s, see those fathomless fudge-sauce-colored eyes, his wide shoulders, muscled legs and that—shame on her—gorgeous, tight tush?

Why was Joe Dillon having such a lingering, disturbing, sensual, ridiculous impact on her?

“Darned if I know,” Polly said aloud, then drained her mug. “But I’ve had enough of this nonsense. Have you got that, Dillon? Get out of my brain space.”

Dandy, she thought dryly, getting to her feet. Now she was talking to the man as though he were actually there in her kitchen. She was off to work to spend the day with lovely animals who wouldn’t do, or say, anything that would further boggle her mind.

And she wasn’t going anywhere near gabby Jazzy.

The morning at the office was busy, the appointment book fully scheduled.

Just before noon, a frantic man came rushing in the door with his yowling cat wrapped in a fluffy pink towel. The feline proceeded to calmly deliver three kittens on one of the examining tables. Polly had to wave an ammonia stick beneath the man’s nose to keep him from passing out cold on his face.

Becky went to lunch and Polly settled onto the receptionist’s chair to answer the telephone for the next hour.

Nancy and Robert came up behind Polly to take a look at the appointment book that would tell them what was on the agenda for the afternoon.

The bell over the door chimed as someone entered the office.

“Oh, Robert,” Nancy said, “are those for me? What’s the occasion? Did I forget something important? Aren’t those flowers beautiful?”

“Well, I...um...” Robert said.

The delivery boy placed a vase of a variety of brightly colored flowers on the counter, then looked at the paper on the clipboard he carried.

“Polly Chapman?” he said.

Polly’s head snapped around and her eyes widened as she stared at the gorgeous bouquet. She got to her feet slowly and moved to the counter.

“Those are for me?” she said.

“Yep,” the boy said, “if you’re Polly Chapman.”

“No one has ever sent me flowers before,” Polly said, frowning.

“Well, someone has sent you flowers now,” Nancy said, beaming. In the next instant she poked Robert on the arm. “Hey, buster, why aren’t they for me from you?”

“I knew I was going to be in trouble,” Robert muttered, rolling his eyes heavenward. “I just knew it.”

Polly signed the paper on the line the boy pointed to, then the messenger left the office, whistling off-key.

Polly buried her nose in the pretty blossoms and inhaled deeply.

“Heavenly,” she said. “They smell so good. It’s springtime in November.”

“Polly, if you don’t open the card,” Nancy said, “I’m going to blow a fuse in my brain. A woman can take just so much curiosity before something breaks.”

“Did it ever occur to you, dear wife,” Robert said, “that the identity of Polly’s admirer is none of your business?”

“Don’t be silly,” Nancy said, with a sniff. “Polly is part of our family. Therefore, it’s most definitely my business. Polly, the card.”

Robert chuckled and shook his head.

Polly pulled the little white envelope free of the plastic, pronged stick and withdrew the card.

“Oh, my,” she whispered, feeling a warm flush stain her cheeks.

“Gracious, you’re blushing.” Nancy peered over Polly’s shoulder and read the message on the card aloud. “‘I’m sorry. Dinner? I’ll call you. Joe.’ Joe? Who’s Joe? What’s he sorry about?”

“Joe Dillon?” Robert said. “From Abraham Lincoln High School?”

“Well, I... well. yes, I...” Polly stammered.

“What’s he sorry about?” Nancy said, frowning. “What did that man do to you that you didn’t tell us about?”

“Nothing,” Polly said quickly. “We had an argument of sorts over my speech. You know, my telling the students that Jazzy cost thousands of dollars, and his owners were in Europe and...Joe Dillon has some very strong opinions about...some things, that’s all.”

Like her working for the Dogwoods, Polly thought, and catering to the rich, and on and on and on.

“Oh,” Nancy said. “Well, your Joe obviously feels badly about your spat.”

“He’s not mine,” Polly said, the flush on her cheeks deepening.

“Figure of speech,” Nancy said. “Is this Joe Dillon good-looking?”

“Scrumptious,” Polly said. “What I mean is, he’s...he’s attractive, in a rugged, earthy, masculine way that... Oh, never mind.”

“Interesting,” Nancy said. “Very interesting. Joe. Now, there’s a strong, no-nonsense name. Yes, very good. I hope he takes you to a snazzy restaurant as part of his apology. What are you going to wear?”

“Nancy,” Polly said, “I didn’t say that I was going to accept Joe’s invitation to dinner.”

“Well, why wouldn’t you?” Nancy said, raising her eyebrows.

“Because we have such opposite views about certain things that all we would do is argue,” she said, slipping the florist card back into the envelope.

And because, she mentally tacked on, she could still remember the startling heat that had swirled within her, then lingered for so long, after Joe’s hand had brushed hers.

Because when she looked into those incredible eyes of his, she felt as though she were drowning in their depths.

Because Joe Dillon did tricky little things to her sense of self, made her so acutely aware of her own femininity compared to his blatant masculinity, it was disconcerting, to say the least.

“Then just avoid addressing those issues,” Nancy was saying.

“Pardon me?” Polly said, pulling her attention from her jumbled thoughts.

“Goodness, you’re spacey,” Nancy said. “Joe Dillon has you in a tizzy.”

“Oh, he does not,” Polly said, frowning. “I don’t even like him.”

“That’s because you got off on the wrong foot with him,” Nancy said. “You know, your saying how much Jazzy cost and what have you, during your speech. That’s what I was saying. Avoid the topics that you two don’t see eye to eye on and enjoy a lovely evening out with a scrumptious...to quote...man.”

“I really don’t think that’s a good idea,” Polly said slowly.

“Sure it is,” Nancy said. “You’re dating a med student and a law student, both of whom are dead broke and exhausted when they surface long enough to take you for pizza, or to a free concert in a park. They’re duds.”

They’re safe! Polly’s mind screamed. They were focused on achieving their career goals, had no long-range plans regarding her, simply enjoyed her company when they managed to wiggle a few hours free from their busy schedules.

But Joe Dillon? He was dangerous.

He was the type of man who could render a woman speechless and unable to think clearly.

It wasn’t hard to fathom waking up in Joe’s bed after a wondrous night of lovemaking and wondering how on earth she had gotten there.

Joe could cause daydreams to become dreams of heartfelt yearning of a home and beautiful baby boys with dark hair and chocolate brown eyes.

Oh, yes, Joe was very, very dangerous.

“Polly? Hello?” Nancy said. “You’re gone again.”

“What? Oh. I was just thinking.”

“Well, let’s think about what you’re going to wear for your dinner date with Joe.”

“Nancy,” Robert said, smiling, “leave the poor girl alone. Why would Polly want to spend the evening with a man she doesn’t even like?”

“Well, in all fairness,” Polly said, “that’s a rather harsh statement, I guess. I certainly didn’t like his attitude about...certain things, and he was very grumpy and borderline rude, but I did create a disaster at the assembly, and I suppose that would get on anyone’s nerves, because you would not believe how noisy and wild those students got in a blink of an eye. Of course, it wasn’t my fault, because no one told me what to say, let alone what not to say. Then again—am I babbling?”

Nancy and Robert nodded in unison.

Polly sighed. “I thought I was. Look, I need to mull this over. Joe said on the card that he’d call about the dinner date. I’ll use the time until then to sift and sort, pro and con, yes and no, and...”

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