Date with a Cowboy. Diana Palmer

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СКАЧАТЬ “Next time I order books, I’ll expect you at the stated time. I’m too busy to sit in the house waiting for people to show up.”

      “The road I live on is six inches thick in wet mud,” she began.

      “You could have phoned on the way and told me that,” he retorted.

      “With what, smoke signals?” she asked sourly. “I don’t have a cell phone.”

      “Why am I not surprised?” he asked with pure sarcasm.

      “And my finances are none of your business!”

      He glanced down. “If they were, I’d quit. No accountant is going to work for a woman who can’t afford two matching socks.”

      “I have another pair just like this one at home!”

      He frowned. He leaned closer. “What in the world is that?” he asked, indicating her left sleeve.

      She looked down. “Aahhhhhh!” she screamed, jumping from one leg to the other. “Get it off, get it off! Aaaahhhh!”

      The large man in the house came out onto the porch, frowning. When he followed his employer’s pointed finger, he spotted the source of the uproar. “Oh,” he said.

      He walked forward, caught Sara’s arm with a big hand, picked up the yellow hornet on her sleeve, slammed it to the porch and stepped on it with a shoe the size of a shoebox.

      “It’s just a hornet,” Mr. Danzetta said gently.

      Sara stared down at the smashed insect and drew in a deep breath. “It’s a yellow hornet. I got stung by one of them once, on my neck. It swelled up and I had to be taken to the emergency room. I’ve been scared of them ever since.” She smiled up at him. “Thank you.” Odd, she thought, how familiar he looked. But she was almost certain she’d never seen him before. Her condition made it difficult for her to remember the past.

      The ogre glared at his employee, who was smiling at Sara and watching her with something like recognition. He noted the glare, cleared his throat and went back into the house.

      “Don’t start flirting with the hired help,” he told her firmly after the front door had closed behind Tony.

      “I said thank you! How can you call that flirting?” she asked, aghast.

      “I’ll call the store when I need a new supply of books,” he replied, ignoring her question.

      She read quickly herself, but he had eight books there. But he might not be reading them, she thought wickedly. He might be using them for other purposes: as doorstops, maybe.

      “You brought the books. I gave you a check. Was there something else?” he asked with a cold smile. “If you’re lonely and need companionship, there are services that advertise on television late at night,” he added helpfully.

      She drew herself up to her full height. “If I were lonely, this is the last place in the world that I’d look for relief!” she informed him.

      “Then why are you still here?”

      She wouldn’t kick him, she wouldn’t kick him …

      “And don’t spin out going down my driveway,” he called after her. “That’s new gravel!”

      She hoped he was watching her the whole way. She dislodged enough gravel to cover a flower bed on her way down the driveway.

      It was a long, wet weekend. She knew that nobody around Jacobs County would be complaining about the rain. It was a dry, unusually hot spring. She read in the market bulletins online that ranchers were going to pay high prices for corn. Floods in the Midwest and Great Plains were killing the corn there, and drought was getting it in the South and Southwest. Considering the vast amounts of the grain that were being used as biofuel, and the correspondingly higher prices it was commanding, it looked as if some small ranchers and farmers might go broke because they couldn’t afford to feed it to their cattle. Not to mention the expense of running farm machinery, which mostly burned gasoline.

      She was glad she wasn’t a farmer or rancher. She did feel sorry for the handful of small ranchers around town. One day, she thought, there would be no more family agriculture in the country. Everything would be owned by international corporations, using patented seed and genetically enhanced produce. It was a good thing that some small farmers were holding on to genetically pure seeds, raising organic crops. One day, the agricultural community might be grateful, if there was ever a wholesale dying out of the genetically modified plants.

      “Well, you’re deep in thought, aren’t you?” Dee teased as she walked in the door the following Wednesday, just before noon.

      Sara blinked, startled by her boss’s appearance. “Sorry,” she said, laughing. “I was thinking about corn.”

      Dee stared at her. “OOOOOkay,” she drawled.

      “No, I’m not going mad,” Sara chuckled. “I read an article in this farm life magazine.” She showed it to the older woman. “It’s about the high prices corn is going to get this year.”

      Dee shook her head. “I don’t know what the smaller ranchers are going to do,” she said. “Gas prices are so high that it’s hard to afford enough fuel to run tractors and trucks, and now they’ll have to hope the hay crop is good or they’ll have to sell off cattle before winter rather than having to feed them stored corn.” She sighed. “I expect even the Ballengers will be feeling a pinch, with their feedlot.”

      “It must be tough, having your livelihood depend on the weather,” she remarked.

      “Yes, it is. I grew up on a little truck farm north of here,” Dee told her. “One year, we had a drought so bad that everything we grew died. Dad had to borrow on the next year’s profits to buy seed and fertilizer.” She shook her head. “Finally he couldn’t deal with the uncertainty anymore. He got a job fixing engines at one of the car dealerships.”

      “It’s so bad, you know—floods in the Midwest and drought here and in the Southeast. Too much water or not enough. They need to build aqueducts like the Romans did and share that water with places that need it.”

      “Not a bad idea, but who’d pay for it?”

      Sara laughed. “I don’t guess anybody could. But it was a nice thought.”

      Dee checked her watch. “You’d better get a move on, before we get swamped with customers and you’re late leaving.”

      “I’ll do that. Thanks, Dee.”

      The older woman smiled. “Good luck with those drawings.”

      Lisa Parks had blond hair and a sweet smile. She was carrying Gil, her eighteen-month-old toddler, when she came to the door to let Sara in. The baby had brownish colored hair and his eyes were green, like his father’s. He was wearing a two-piece sailor suit.

      “Doesn’t he look cute!” Sara enthused over the little boy, while Lisa beamed.

      “Our pride and joy,” Lisa murmured, kissing the child on his soft nose. “Come in.”

      Sara СКАЧАТЬ