Cowboy Country. Linda Lael Miller

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      The first two weeks of the proposed trial period were free, giving her plenty of time to pull out, and all she had to do was post one photo of herself and give her first name, age and a few minor details.

      Carolyn decided to call herself Carol for now. She uploaded a recent picture, taken at the town’s Independence Day picnic, admitted that she’d hit the big 3-O, and then—well—lied. Just a little.

      She loved to bowl, she wrote, in the little panel labeled Little Tidbits About Me, and she worked in a bank. She had two rescued dogs, Marvin and Harry, and she’d been married once, when she was very young.

      Reading over what she’d entered, Carolyn sighed, propped an elbow on the desk and sunk her chin into her palm. None of this was true, of course, but she couldn’t help being creative—it was in her nature. Besides, she was starting to like the fictional Carol.

      She sounded like a good person.

      Reassured by the certainty that prospective dates could contact her only through an assigned email address connected with the site, Carolyn moved the cursor to the little box in the lower right-hand corner of the screen, marked Go For It!, and clicked.

      Dater’s remorse struck her in the next second, but it was too late now. She was out there in cyberspace, albeit under an assumed identity, and it was kind of exciting, as well as scary.

      She’d taken a step, after all. Made a move, however tentative, toward her heart’s desire: a home and family of her own.

      Carolyn slumped back in her chair, glumly scanning the Friendly Faces web page for a button that would allow her to back out of her trial membership—what had she been thinking?—but the best she could come up with was the Contact Us link.

      That would have to do. She’d send a brief message, say she’d changed her mind about online dating and that would be that.

      But then a message popped up.

      Someone likes your friendly face! it crowed, in letters that appeared to be dancing across the screen. Click on the heart to get acquainted!

      Carolyn hesitated, amazed and curious and wishing she’d worked on the gypsy skirt as planned, instead of surfing the Net.

      She thought about Tricia, happily married and expecting a baby.

      She thought about Brody Creed, who apparently believed he could just go around kissing women he’d dumped.

      Dumped? He hadn’t even had the decency to do that. He’d just boogied, abandoned her in the middle of the night, while she was sleeping.

      She clicked on the pulsing heart icon.

      A photo of a nice-looking—as in, he looked as though he was probably nice—man popped up immediately. Hi, the message bar read. My name is Darren.

      Darren wore a mild expression on his roundish face, and his hairline was receding, just a little. He was a dentist, divorced with no kids and he loved dogs and bowling and computer games.

      At least appearance-wise, he was nothing like Brody.

      A point in his favor, for sure.

      Carolyn drew a deep, shaky breath, let it out slowly, and clicked on the chat button. Hello, she told him. I’m Carol.

      Darren, in addition to his other talents, was a speedy typist. He flashed back with an immediate, Wow. That was fast. Hi, there, Carol.

      Carolyn felt a pang of guilt. She’d been acquainted with the man for two seconds, and she was already lying to him. Lying to a divorced dentist, with no kids, who loved dogs.

      What kind of person was she, anyway?

      A careful one, she thought.

      Hi, there, Darrell, she wrote back.

      Darren, he corrected.

      Carolyn stifled a groan. Sorry. Darren. I haven’t had much experience at this, as you’ve probably guessed. And my name isn’t Carol, it’s Carolyn. I don’t work in a bank and I’m looking for a husband to father my children. Anybody who isn’t a Creed and doesn’t have a criminal record will do.

      Darren replied with an LOL and an animated smiley face that was winking. Everybody was new here once, he added, in his rapid-fire, e.e. cummings style. On the Friendly Faces site, I mean. It’s a great way to meet new people. Very low-key.

      It’s a virtual singles bar, Carolyn thought but did not type. And the secret password is probably loser.

      Really? Carolyn wrote in response. Have you met a lot of people through the site? And if so, why are you still trolling the web for prospective dates?

      Sure, Darren answered. I’m making friends right and left. So far, it’s just been dinner and a movie, but, hey, at least I’m doing something besides filling cavities and begging patients to floss. Ha ha.

      Darren had a sense of humor, then.

      Sort of.

      Carolyn sat with her fingers poised over the keyboard, and no earthly idea what to say next.

      Carol? Darren asked. Are you still there?

      I’m here, Carolyn replied.

      You’re shy, Darren said.

      Carolyn blew out a long breath, making her bangs tickle her forehead. Not really, she answered. There, she’d said something honest. She wasn’t shy. She was merely cautious. Sensible.

      It finally occurred to her that if she was stretching the truth, Darren might be, too. Maybe his name was Dave, and he was married and not a dentist at all. Maybe he owned the Friendly Faces website, and this was his way of making people think they were in for some action.

      Nice “talking” to you, Darren, she wrote. But I should be going. Lots to do.

      Wait! Maybe we could meet for coffee? he replied.

      Maybe, Carolyn said.

      Your picture is great, Darren hastened to add. Promise we can chat again, at least?

      Carolyn sighed. We’ll see, she wrote.

      She logged off the computer, pushed back her chair and stood. Stretched, enjoying the pull in her muscles, and turned around. There was the sewing machine, the plastic box full of ribbon scraps saved from various projects, her quilted-top basket, where she kept scissors, thimbles, needles and other notions.

      Sewing, like horseback riding, had long been a refuge for her. She could lose herself in either pursuit...usually.

      But tonight was different.

      All because Brody Creed had kissed her.

      The bastard.

      The good-looking, sexy bastard.

      Carolyn squared her shoulders, spun around on one heel and marched herself back to the desk, and her computer.

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