5

      TRISH CIRCLED Sally, looking her up and down. “So, what’s with the fancy duds? You look like Scarlett O’Hara at the Twelve Oaks barbecue party.”

      Sally kept her eyes trained on the crowd milling about on the Pittles’ sprawling front lawn. “I just felt like dressing up, that’s all.”

      “Oh yeah? I don’t recall you dressing up for last year’s peach party. Come to think of it, you showed up in cut-offs and a stained tube top. You hadn’t even shaved your legs.”

      So what? Sally thought. Okay, so maybe her dress was a bit much. Certainly no one else at the party was wearing a calf-length Laura Ashley original with a silk underlay, a Peter Pan collar and clusters of seed-pearl embroidery. Plus matching parasol, of course. “What can I say? I’ve changed.”

      “Uh-huh. Your clothes, right? About ten times since breakfast?”

      “What’s that supposed to mean?”

      Shielding her eyes from the harsh afternoon sun, Trish looked down the gently sloping lawn, directly at Jack. Notebook in hand, he was frowning as Cora Brown held up a peach and turned it from side to side. “Don’t be coy with me, Sally Darville. I saw the way you reacted to you-know-who yesterday, and I see the way you’re looking at him now.”

      “I am not looking at him in any particular way, Ms. Smarty Pants.”

      “Oh yes, you are, Ms. Obvious. I’ve never seen you look at anyone like that. And by the way, why is he still here?”

      In a breezy voice that sounded phony, even to her, Sally explained about Charlie—how indisposed he was, and how shorthanded he was, and how very sweet it was of Jack to pitch in.

      Trish’s eyebrows shot up. “Since when does Charlie Sacks have a bad back?”

      Tired of the conversation, Sally looked around as if she was interested in spotting someone other than Jack. “Mmm, I think it’s always given him a little trouble, hasn’t it?”

      “I think you’re stirring up a little trouble. That’s what I think.”

      Sally tried not to sound defensive. “Nonsense. Sometimes things get…stuck. I’m just helping them along a little, that’s all.”

      “Sally…”

      Why, Sally fumed, did everyone insist on speaking to her in that patronizing tone of voice? You’d think she was a shameless schemer or something. “I’m not stirring up anything that doesn’t need stirring up.”

      “Get a grip, Sal. The guy is a snooty jerk. Ted Axton said he met him yesterday at the dairy bar, and that he was rude to everybody.”

      “For heaven’s sake, Trish, the Trubble twins had stolen his car!” Jack had told Sally about the incident this morning, on their way back to her place from Charlie’s. “Besides, you only spent two minutes with Jack yesterday. You don’t know him.”

      “Oh, and you do?”

      “I’m getting to know him. I’ve been with him almost constantly since he got here, and I’ve enjoyed every minute.” It was true, Sally realized. They’d only been apart long enough to sleep and change clothes. She’d never been able to spend that much time with anyone without getting bored and restless.

      “Yeah, well, two minutes was all I needed with the guy.”

      Sally glared at her old friend. “Don’t you have something to do, Trish?”

      “Yeah. Oh, and speak of the devil.”

      From far across the lawn, Jack strolled toward them, twins in tow. They were tugging at his jacket sleeves and yaking nonstop at him, but his eyes were trained on Sally. Her stomach fluttered. The more she saw of him, the more she wanted to see of him. Trish was wrong about Jack. Sure he was snooty—on the surface. But there was a better man below.