Free Your Magic or Mine? by Ann Macela Page B

look in his eyes.
    Although … why on earth would she want to do that? They didn’t have to be friends to work together. She wasn’t attracted to him, was she? How could she be?
    A handsome man with practically golden hair and striking blue eyes was a fine thing to contemplate, even fantasize about, if she was in the mood. She’d never been one to squeal about movie stars; visual perfection gave no clue to the real person. She was more interested in a man’s views, his ideas, his aspirations, his down-to-earth common sense, and her attitude was evident in her choice of male friends and colleagues.
    She hardly knew Marcus Forscher, and what she had seen and heard and read from him had not been conducive to wanting to know him better. They were never going to agree about the art and emotion of casting. She might be willing to agree to disagree, but he appeared to be incapable of seeing any value in her side.
    No, she wasn’t attracted to him.
    “Earth to Glori,” her mother said. “You’ve been standing there staring out the window for five minutes. Is he coming?”
    “Oh. Yes, he’s coming.”
    “Are you all right? You look a little confused.”
    “I’m fine.” She rubbed her chest again. It had started itching when her mother spoke.
    “Did a bug bite you? Do you need some ointment?”
    “No, Mother, no bug. My clothes are chafing some. I’ll go call Daddy for dinner.”
    “Yes, do that,” her mother said, stirring the pot of spaghetti sauce.
    Gloriana wondered a moment at the speculative glance her mother gave her, but turned her attention to where her father might be. The itch had gone away.

CHAPTER
FIVE
     
    Saturday morning precisely at eleven, Marcus pulled up in front of the ranch-style, sandy-colored brick house. He’d followed Morgan’s directions carefully, driving past the customers’ entry gate to the farm and coming in at the smaller road marked “private.” He parked in the graveled area next to the road, climbed out of the car, stretched, and looked around.
    Fields of growing plants spread to all sides, while her front yard held a lush, dark green lawn, four large live oaks, a couple of bird feeders, and mulched beds bursting with multihued flowers. Two wooden picnic tables with benches and several lawn chairs sat in the shade of the trees. He could smell new-mown grass and some sort of floral fragrance—he didn’t have a clue what it was. Or what the flowers were, either, but they were pretty and cheerful.
    Samson whined from the backseat of the BMW sedan.
    “Okay, boy, let’s get you out of there.” Marcus unhitched the leash from the seat belt slot and removed the harness. “I know you don’t like the contraption,” he said while Samson jumped from the car and shook himself. “If we have a wreck, you won’t like flying through the window, either. Remember, behave yourself, or it’s back on the leash.”
    Samson trotted beside him up to the front doorway, which held screen and wooden doors, both shut. Marcus rang the doorbell.
    The curtain behind the glass fluttered and he caught a glimpse of dark curly hair. Morgan opened the door and looked at him through the screen mesh.
    Every thought in his head flew away when their gazes met—and locked. He knew his mouth was open and words of greeting were forming in his throat, but he had to concentrate on breathing as his whole body came to attention.
    She didn’t move, either.
    A sharp “Yip!” pulled his gaze downward. The screen door opened, propelled by a dog, a black and white basenji, of all things. The dog darted out and headed straight for Samson, who yodeled a greeting. The two animals circled each other, sniffing and nuzzling. They looked back at the humans, next at each other, and started trotting, then running down the walk and out onto the road.
    “Samson!” he bellowed as he took two steps after them.
    “Delilah!” Morgan yelled as she came outside.
    The hounds stopped at the edge of the nearest field, grinned