Free A Love to Call Her Own by Marilyn Pappano Page A

man had left her breathless?
    Holding on to the railing, she took the last few steps to the porch and politely waited for him to open the screen door. As they went inside and toward the kitchen, he asked again, “What about that job?”
    Oh, yeah. The reason she’d tripped in the first place. She’d thought no one in her world besides LoLo Baxter knew she didn’t work at the bank anymore. She hadn’t exactly lied to LoLo, unless omission counted. She just hadn’t said the words: I got fired.
    Now LoLo and Dalton knew something about her that her girls didn’t know. Discomfort crept along her spine, and with deliberation she turned the question back on Dalton. “How do you know I’m not working there?” Then: “Have you been checking up on me?”
    His sun-dark skin reddened all the way to the tips of his ears. “I went in to take care of some business, and some guy was at your desk. That’s all.”
    Oh, God, he really had checked up on her. She’d just been teasing, but if he hadn’t, there’d be no reason for his whoops-got-caught reaction. He’d gone to the bank with the expectation of seeing her. Now her own skin was reddening, and she knew from experience that blushing wasn’t a good look for her. Suddenly anxious to jump in her car and drive like her hair were on fire, she fumbled with putting the camera in its bag and snatching up her purse.
    â€œLife’s too short to work at a job you hate.” She flashed a smile that was as phony as she was and hastily started back the way they’d just come. “Like I said, I appreciate everything, but I’ve kept you long enough. If I got any fabulous pictures of your animals, I’ll let you know. Thanks for everything.”
    He stopped at the porch—she felt the instant the distance between them widened—then waited until she was at her car to speak. “Hey, Jessy.”
    Startled, she looked up. Was that the first time he’d used her name? Then the realist inside her spoke up. So what? It’s a name. Even that old hag of a supervisor, Mrs. Dauterive, called you by name. Doesn’t mean a damn thing.
    Dalton shifted as if he regretted stopping her, dragged his fingers through his hair, then, with an almost belligerent tone, asked, “You want to have dinner tomorrow night?”
    Realist Jessy: Oh, no no no. He knows you, Jessy, and you cannot handle a man who knows you. Even Aaron didn’t know the real you. Besides, he was a one-night stand like all the others. You go out on a date with a one-night stand, you’re looking at a relationship.
    And after Aaron, she didn’t deserve a chance at another relationship.
    But Dalton was awfully handsome, and she was a sucker for handsome. And he was lonely, and she related to that. And he was aware of her flaws—some, at least—and willing to see her again in spite of them.
    Before she could say the right thing, she blurted out the totally wrong one. “Sure. Want to meet in town?”
    â€œSix thirty?” He waited for her nod. “I’ll pick you up.”
    â€œOkay.” She gave him her address with an unsteady smile, and her hand trembled as she waved before sliding into the car. That wasn’t anticipation twirling in her stomach. It wasn’t a bit of a thrill over the prospect of her first date since she and Aaron had gotten married, and it certainly wasn’t pleasure at the thought of seeing Dalton again.
    She told herself that all the way back to the paved road, but she didn’t manage to believe it.
    *  *  *
    Ben shifted in the wicker chair. He’d been at the house longer than he’d intended and hadn’t come face to face with his mother yet. He couldn’t deny sitting on the porch with Lucy was a much more pleasant way to spend the day than listening to Patricia’s self-centered me me me . Granted, she had a reason now to lock in on