The Enemy's Daughter. Linda Turner
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a starry-eyed teenager waiting to catch a glimpse of the new boy in town. God knows what he would have thought.
Heat climbing in her cheeks, she sternly ordered herself to find something, anything, to do so she’d stop thinking about the man. She didn’t have to look far—only to the flower boxes that lined the front porch. The wilting plants—not even on a good day could she call them flowers—desperately needed a drink of water. Relieved, she grabbed the hose and went to work giving each plant a thorough soaking.
Later, she couldn’t have said what made her glance into the study window. She certainly hadn’t intended to. It was just…there. One second she was frowning at the most pathetic pansies she’d ever seen in her life, and the next, she was looking, straight into the window next to her father’s desk. And there was Steve, at the computer, frowning at the screen as his fingers flew over the keyboard.
Surprised, she stood there for what seemed like an eternity, a frown wrinkling her brow as she watched him talk to his mother on the phone. His back was half turned to her—he had no idea that she’d seen him—and before he could turn and find her at the window, she hurriedly made her way to the other end of the porch. And all the while, she couldn’t help but wonder what the devil he was doing.
It wasn’t that she minded him using the computer, she told herself with a frown. She’d just thought he was the type to ask first. Not only was it common courtesy, but computers were expensive and easily screwed up. She had all the station books on hers, and if he pushed the wrong keys, God knew how long it would take her to straighten things out.
Just thinking about that twisted her stomach in knots. She would, she promised herself, definitely talk to him about overstepping his bounds—but only after she was sure his father was okay. After all, she wasn’t so hard-hearted that she would hit him with such a minor annoyance when his father might be seriously ill.
Her thoughts on what was going on inside her study, she didn’t notice that she’d saturated her plants until water began overflowing the flower boxes. Muttering a curse, she hurried to the hydrant and had just turned it off when she heard the front door open and Steve stepped out on the porch. She took one look at the grim set of his face and felt her heart sink.
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