Men to Trust. Diana Palmer

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СКАЧАТЬ she replied.

      Curt had to ask her twice if she was ready to leave. She hadn’t had the opportunity to talk to Kemp any further, and he’d been called away suddenly to meet with a man who’d just been arrested. Before he left, he’d looked back at Violet with pale blue eyes that absolutely smoldered. She was still tingling an hour after he’d gone.

      “What?” she asked abruptly, facing Curt. She flushed when he grinned. “Sorry,” she began.

      “Oh, I’m not upset,” he replied, chuckling. “I’m glad to see that your ex-boss finally realized what he was missing.”

      She flushed even more. “It’s not like that.”

      “I’m a man, Violet,” he reminded her as they walked out to his car after making their goodbyes to their host. “I know a smitten man when I see one. Kemp’s got it bad.”

      “Do you really think so?” she asked hopefully.

      “I think so. Just go slowly,” he advised. “He’s pretty much a loner and he doesn’t play around.”

      “I knew that already.”

      He turned toward her, serious for once. “What I meant,” he said softly, “is that he’s more vulnerable than a man who plays the field. And everybody knows he’s not a marrying man, at least not visibly. You just step carefully, okay?”

      “I will. Thanks for the advice, Curt.”

      He shrugged. “Story of my life. I’m always someone’s big brother.”

      She grinned. “One day some lucky girl will carry you off,” she promised.

      He smiled back. “I hope it’s a few years coming. I’m no more ready to settle down than your friend Kemp is. At least he’s got a profession. I’m still drifting.”

      “Libby said you wanted to open a feed store.”

      He nodded. “It’s the dream of my life.”

      “I hope you get to do it, Curt. I mean that.”

      He opened the door for her. “So do I. You’re a nice girl, Violet.”

      “You’re a nice man.”

      He chuckled. “Well, I’m accommodating, at least. Calhoun had quite a crowd today,” he added when he’d climbed in under the wheel of his and Libby’s old pickup truck.

      “A big one. And some big money, too. I think he just may beat Senator Merrill for the Democratic nomination.”

      “I wouldn’t be a bit surprised myself.”

      Violet told her mother about Kemp’s invitation, and Mrs. Hardy grinned from ear to ear. “And how long have I been telling you that Mr. Kemp had more interest in you than a boss in his secretary?” she asked.

      “It’s only to eat a trout,” Violet replied.

      “He can eat trout by himself,” her mother said sagely. “It’s also interesting that Mr. Kemp, who never advertises his political affiliations, suddenly turned up at a campaign meeting.”

      “He likes Mr. Ballenger.”

      Mrs. Hardy pursed her lips. “I think somebody told him you were going to the meeting with Curt Collins.”

      She gasped. “Really?”

      “Sometimes a man doesn’t appreciate what he’s got until some other man wants it. Or he thinks another man wants it.” Mrs. Hardy’s eyes twinkled. “We’ll see, won’t we, dear?”

      Violet colored prettily and suggested a television program.

      She didn’t sleep. All night long, she saw Blake Kemp’s eyes drilling into her own, she heard his voice, felt the touch of his fingers on her face. She tried on everything in her closet the next morning before she finally decided on a nice ankle-length sky-blue knit jumper with a white blouse under it and her embroidered denim jacket over it. She left her hair long.

      “You look fine,” Mrs. Hardy said from her bed when Violet went in to say goodbye.

      “Are you sure you feel all right?” Violet worried.

      “I’m just going to have a lazy Sunday,” the older woman replied, smiling. “I wouldn’t lie to you.”

      “All right. But if you need me…”

      “The phone’s right here, darling.” Mrs. Hardy indicated it on the bedside table. “Now go and have a good time. I won’t expect my trout anytime soon, by the way, and I’ve already had my breakfast.”

      “I’ll bring you back something nice,” Violet promised.

      “Drive carefully.”

      Violet kissed her. “Always!”

      She stopped on the front porch and looked down at her black loafers, worn with knee-high hose. She grimaced, because one of them was scuffed. But, she reasoned, Kemp was going to be more interested in the rest of her than in her shoes. She straightened her purse’s shoulder strap over her shoulder and walked resolutely to her old but reliable car.

      Kemp was on the front porch of his house when she drove up. It was a Victorian, with gingerbread patterned woodwork and a real turret room. The whole thing was painted white, brilliant and new-looking, and there was a porch swing and rocking chairs on the long, wide front porch. There were bird feeders everywhere. In the flower gardens flanking the porch, seeds were sprouting and rosebushes were putting out buds.

      Violet took her purse and locked the car involuntarily before she pocketed her car key and walked up the steps.

      “You like birds!” she exclaimed.

      He laughed. He was dressed casually, as she was, in khaki slacks and a blue knit designer shirt darker than the shade of his eyes behind the metal rims of his glasses.

      “Yes, I like birds. But so do Mee and Yow, so I have to make sure they’re both inside before I fill the feeders,” he said on a chuckle.

      “I have bird feeders at our place, too,” Violet replied shyly. “I especially like the little birds, like the wrens and titmice.”

      “I prefer cardinals and blue jays.”

      “They’re still birds,” Violet said on a laugh.

      He felt as if his feet were off the floor as he looked at her. Smiles transformed her oval face, made it bright and radiant—almost beautiful.

      “Do you hire a gardener, or do you work in the yard yourself?” she asked, enthusiastic about the mass of flowering shrubs around the front yard.

      “I do it,” he replied. “I need to unwind from time to time.”

      “Yes, gardening is good for stress,” she admitted. “I go through a lot of it myself. But I plant vegetables in СКАЧАТЬ