Chapter Eight

      The smell of impending rain struck Flynn the moment she stepped from Ace’s truck. She’d remembered a coat but forgotten an umbrella. Getting wet, however, was the least of her worries.

      She and Ace were having dinner.

      Not that they hadn’t eaten together before—when they’d dated, of course, and on occasions when she’d joined the Harts for birthdays and holidays.

      Then there had been the night of their indiscretion. Hard to believe that was almost two months ago.

      “It’s crowded,” Ace commented as they strolled across the parking lot to the diner’s front entrance.

      “The beef Stroganoff special is always popular.”

      The potpie special was also popular, which is what the restaurant had been serving the night Ace went home with her.

      How in the world had that even happened?

      She’d been on a date. Correction, was supposed to have been on a date. The guy had called at the last second, after she’d arrived at the diner to meet him, and canceled. Something about his clothes dryer malfunctioning. Seriously? She’d tried to convince herself she didn’t care. He wasn’t anyone important, she’d only agreed to go out with him because a mutual friend had set them up.

      Rather than leave, Flynn had stayed and ordered dinner. To spite him, she supposed, and because she was hungry.

      Ace had dropped by the diner on his way home from treating a yearling filly with a severe respiratory infection.

      “Two tonight?” The hostess’s question startled Flynn, returning her to the present. “Follow me.” The woman grabbed two menus and escorted Flynn and Ace to a table that couldn’t possibly be any more out in the open.

      She cringed inside as Ace pulled out her chair. Discreetly scanning the room, she counted three familiar faces, nodding in response to their smiles of recognition. It could be worse. At least none of the Hart ranch hands were there.

      Why had she suggested this place? She’d have been better off with pizza and wings and a case of heartburn.

      She fingered the edge of the menu as she studied it, which was ridiculous since she knew the offerings by heart.

      “Evening, folks.” Their waitress, all of eighteen and cute as a button, flashed them a dimpled smile. “Can I get you something to drink?”

      Ace waited for Flynn to order first.

      “Umm…” Iced tea was out of the question, unfortunately. “Lemonade,” she said with a sigh.

      “Same for me.”

      “I thought you didn’t like lemonade that much.”

      “Neither do you.”

      “I’d have iced tea if caffeine wasn’t bad for the baby. No reason you can’t.”

      “Lemonade’s fine.”

      He was being sweet again, like at Thunder Creek when he’d proposed. She’d tell him that, except the last time hadn’t gone well.

      He’d also been sweet two months ago when he’d spotted her sitting alone at a table not far from this one, come over and asked her what was wrong. Funny, Flynn thought she’d been doing an admirable job hiding her disappointment about being stood up. But Ace had always been good at reading people, her more than most.

      He’d sat and told her the other guy’s loss was his gain, bought her dinner and regaled her with amusing stories of their errant childhood. By dinner’s end, Flynn was having so much fun she couldn’t even remember the guy’s name.

      Later, outside, she and Ace had kissed. Spontaneously. Lightly, at first. Then, in the span of a single softly issued moan, everything changed.

      She was the one who’d suggested they go to her place. Her father was having a night out with his cronies and wouldn’t be home until late. Ace had followed her in his truck. Flynn was convinced during the fifteen-minute drive that one or both of them would come to their senses. It didn’t happen.

      If anything, the clandestine nature of their rendezvous added to the excitement. He’d parked his truck behind the barn, then met her at the kitchen door.

      They couldn’t stumble down the hall to her bedroom fast enough.

      “How’s work going?” Ace’s voice penetrated Flynn’s thoughts.

      She blinked and set her menu down, acutely aware of the flush creeping up her neck and cheeks. She had to stop dwelling on that night. His touch. The tangled sheets strewn across his naked body.

      “Fine. We’ve been busy this week. The flu seems to be going around.”

      “You need to be careful you don’t get sick.”

      “I’ll be okay. I don’t have too much patient contact.”

      “As much as I hate the idea of you moving, I’d almost rather you were going to school than exposed to sick people all day.”

      “There are probably