Sierra lived for stories of his work and she realized her first impression of him was correct—he was a pretty simple man with some shining qualities. He was honest and loyal, and he was incredibly gentle, especially with Molly. Yet there was no doubting his profound strength. She began to think of him as her gentle giant.

    One day he showed up around lunchtime and asked her if she could go for a short hike. She told him that might be pushing her luck on her ankle and he said, “I thought we’d go piggyback and take the dogs. Just a half mile. Maybe less.”

    “Why?”

    “I haven’t had my workout today and...well, it’s a good way to stay in shape and get close to you. Let’s go. Just a half mile, come on.”

    It was his plot from the beginning, to get her up against his body like that, and they talked while he hiked. Then he put her down to rest and pulled her around to his front, put his hands on her waist and said, “Come on, Sierra. Quit stalling.”

    She put her arms around his neck and met his lips softly. Then she pulled him tighter and went in for the kill, kissing that sweet mouth of his like a starving woman. She moved over his mouth with passion, letting him tongue her lips apart as he lifted her off her feet. The spectacular kiss didn’t stop until Molly barked. He broke away from her lips, but didn’t set her back on her feet.

    “Hello,” he said.

    “You planned that.”

    “Very well, it seems.”

    “It was just a kiss,” she told him.

    “One of the best I’ve had,” he said. “Hit me again.”

    She did. Because the best part of him was that he was playful. And she was a little hooked on it.

    She hadn’t been kissed in such a long time and kissed so thoroughly—maybe never. What would Moody say? But no—she was not telling Moody or anyone. She was just going to enjoy Connie while she could, before any new disasters befell her.

    He put her on her feet. “Told you,” he said. “Good idea.”

    “Well,” she said, breathless. “That’s where the ideas stop. I’m not going any further with you.”

    “Water please,” he said. She handed him a bottle and he took a long drink, then shared with the dogs. “Ahh,” he said. “Take your time, Sierra. I’m stronger than I look. I can wait you out. But I bet pretty soon we’re going to do it.”

    “I don’t know about that,” she said. “But a word of advice—that armpit thing you’ve got ideas about? Forget it.”

    And he roared with laughter.

    * * *

    Tom Canaday took a potted geranium to Lola’s house. Except for the time ten years ago or so that he did a little remodel work for her on the house, he hadn’t been there. He’d been aware of the place, though. It sat on the high part of town and Lola had lived in it with her kids since the boys were babies. They were still pretty young when she divorced and she stayed on.

    From the talks they’d had in the diner or when he went to Home Depot where she also worked, he knew that she’d done many of the repairs and upgrades in the house herself. In fact, one of the reasons she loved working at Home Depot was her love of remodeling. The employee discount came in handy. Every time he’d driven by he admired the look of the place as only a man who’d done most of the building and remodeling of his own could.

    It was Sunday afternoon, his kids had all scattered and knew they had to be home by five for dinner. He hadn’t mentioned to Lola that he’d be dropping by and he expected either no one would be home or everyone would be and he’d be interrupting family time, two teenage boys bouncing off the walls.

    His hands trembled. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d done something like this. Never, he thought. Never, because he’d married Becky when he was just a kid and had never in his adult life courted a woman. He rang the bell, but all was silent inside. He waited, but there was no sound, no movement.

    Just as well. He put the potted plant on the table between two wicker chairs on the porch and headed down the steps. There was no card or anything. Sometime next week he’d tell her he was the one who left it.

    “Tom?”

    He jumped in surprise. Lola came around the corner of the house. She wore rolled-up jeans, an oversize man’s shirt with the sleeves rolled up, sneakers and gardening gloves. Her dark hair was pulled back and covered with a straw hat.

    “You scared me!” he said.

    “Did you ring the bell?”

    He nodded. “I brought you a plant,” he said.

    “You did? Why?”

    He shrugged, feeling kind of dumb. “There were a couple of them on sale at the garden store so I got one for myself and one for you. I should’ve called. But, I... Ah, I can’t stay anyway.”

    “Of course you can stay,” she said, coming up on the porch. “This is lovely, thank you. And perfect. I love geraniums.” She pulled off her gloves. “Let’s have a glass of lemonade, shall we?”

    “Aren’t you busy?”

    “Not really. The boys are fishing with my dad and won’t be home till sunset. I was in the garden—I have some nice vegetables coming in. I’ll go in and get us some drinks. Is the porch okay? The weather’s so nice, I hate to waste it inside.”

    “The porch is great,” he said. And then he breathed a giant sigh of relief, which she caught because she laughed.

    “I’ll be right back,” she said.

    He waited patiently. He felt like a thirteen-year-old boy when all he wanted in the world was for once in his life to be a little slick with a lady. And so he laughed to himself—who was he kidding? He’d never been like that. In fact, he didn’t really want to be. He sure hadn’t bought a red geranium in an attempt to sweep Lola off her feet.