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Sierra Carlton was the very last woman with whom he should be spending time.
Yet here he was. Again. She was getting to be a bad habit that he couldn’t seem to control. Yet, the evenings that he and the girls didn’t spend here with Sierra and her daughter, Tyree, seemed strangely flat and incomplete now.
He tried to think of her as his business partner, maybe even a friend. Instead he kept dreaming about putting his hands on her, laying his mouth against the long, graceful column of her throat.
Oh, man. What was he doing? And why couldn’t he stop?
Dear Reader,
It’s that time of year again—when every woman’s thoughts turn to love—and we have all kinds of romantic gifts for you! We begin with the latest from reader favorite Allison Leigh, Secretly Married, in which she concludes her popular TURNABOUT miniseries. A woman who was sure she was divorced finds out there’s the little matter of her not-so-ex-husband’s signing the papers, so off she goes to Turnabout—the island that can turn your life around—to get her divorce. Or does she?
Our gripping MERLYN COUNTY MIDWIVES miniseries continues with Gina Wilkins’s Countdown to Baby. A woman interested only in baby-making—or so she thinks—may be finding happily-ever-after and her little bundle of joy, with the town’s most eligible bachelor. LOGAN’S LEGACY, our new Silhouette continuity, is introduced in The Virgin’s Makeover by Judy Duarte, in which a plain-Jane adoptee is transformed in time to find her inner beauty…and, just possibly, her biological family. Look for the next installment in this series coming next month. Shirley Hailstock’s Love on Call tells the story of two secretive emergency-room doctors who find temptation—not to mention danger—in each other. In Down from the Mountain by Barbara Gale, two disabled people—a woman without sight, and a scarred man—nonetheless find each other a perfect match. And Arlene James continues THE RICHEST GALS IN TEXAS with Fortune Finds Florist. A sudden windfall turns complicated when a wealthy small-town florist forms a business relationship—for starters—with a younger man who has more than finance on his mind.
So Happy Valentine’s Day, and don’t forget to join us next month, for six special romances, all from Silhouette Special Edition.
Sincerely,
Gail Chasan
Senior Editor
Fortune Finds Florist
Arlene James
ARLENE JAMES
grew up in Oklahoma and has lived all over the South. In 1976 she married “the most romantic man in the world.” The author enjoys traveling with her husband, but writing has always been her chief pastime. Arlene is also the author of the inspirational titles Proud Spirit, A Wish for Always, Partners for Life and No Stranger to Love.
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter One
Sam shined the toes of his boots on the backs of the legs of his starched, dark blue jeans and tugged at the open collar of his freshly ironed, maroon-plaid shirt. Smoothing the sides of the boxy cattleman’s coat that he wore for protection against the cold north wind, he sucked in one more deep breath. He was as ready as he was ever going to be.
It felt odd preparing to talk business with a woman. Farming was usually a man’s province, but like he’d told the banker who’d put him onto this setup, “The times they were a-changing, and a wise man realized when he couldn’t stand against a tide.” Besides, he’d done his research, and Sam wasn’t as convinced of the folly of her plans as the bankers were. Farming flowers might be unusual in West Central Texas, but it was entirely possible, provided a man—or woman—had access to all the necessary resources. He did not, but neither did Sierra Carlton. Together…ah, now that was another proposition altogether, and one he’d come prepared to make. Couldn’t be all that different than talking his way into an equipment loan.
Sam looked up at the crisp brick front of the Lorimer building. Like Sierra Carlton, Avis Lorimer was one of the famed Puma Springs heiresses. They, along with a third woman named Valerie Keene, had each inherited a cool million from an old man whom everyone around town had assumed was a pauper, including the old man’s nephew, Heston Witt, who just happened to be mayor, a position ripe for embarrassment when people learned he had pretty much gotten left out of the will. Heston’s nose had been out of joint since because of it, much to the amusement of most of the town, although that didn’t stop anyone from repeating the gossip he spouted.
Sam didn’t have the foggiest idea what Valerie Keene had done with her money. All he knew about her was that she was rumored to have been quite the party girl before she married the town’s fire marshal.
He’d heard worse about Avis Lorimer. Some said she was a home wrecker and possibly even a “widow-on-purpose,” but she’d stepped in and used her money to erect this fine new building on the Puma Springs town square after the old one had burned and left an ugly, gaping hole in the block.
As for Sierra Carlton, it was rumored that she was the disinherited child of a wealthy Fort Worth businessman. Some said she was divorced, and some said she had never been married, though she had a daughter. Sam, however, was the last man to judge another. God knew that he lived with his own enduring scandal.
Sam pushed open the heavy glass door to the florist’s shop and stepped inside to the sound of muted chimes. Warmth and a wave of flowery perfume washed over him. He glanced around the large, attractively arrayed showroom. A moment later a short, heavy woman with a mannish haircut appeared from a doorway on the right. Assuming that she was Sierra Carlton, he introduced himself.
“I’m Sam Jayce.”
“Pleased to meet you, Mr. Jayce. I’m Bette Grouper. How can I help you?”
“Oh. Uh, I have an appointment with Ms. Carlton.”
The wide woman motioned to a flight of stairs on the left. “It’s at the front of the building. Just knock and go on in.”
Feeling foolish, Sam nodded his thanks and moved to the staircase. He started climbing. About halfway up, he paused, wiped his palms on his thighs and checked his hair with both hands. He’d been cursed with a cowlick right in front, so he’d taken to spiking his short, thick hair, not that it needed much help to stand up on end. Frowning, he dropped his hands and took the remainder of the stairs two at a time, keenly aware that if he’d been meeting with a man he’d have just worn a cap and said to hell with it. Dealing with females—adult females, anyway—always changed the equation, and that woman downstairs had unnerved him. For a moment he’d thought he was going to be doing business with someone who put him in mind of his grandma. That could still happen.
At the top of the stairs he turned left, toward the front of the building and strode down the hall to the last door. Rapping sharply,