Arlene James - Fortune Finds Florist

“Put on your seat belt first.”

The admonition flew through him. Before he could think, certainly before he could reason, he had shaken off her hand and snapped, “You may be my partner, but you aren’t my mother!”

Her mouth dropped open, and matching ire flashed in her blue-green eyes. “I’m not trying to be!”

“Aren’t you?”

“No! You’re in the car, you put a belt on.”

“You have to get over this age thing, Sierra, or we just can’t work together.”

“What has this got to do with age?” She threw up her hands. “You’ve spent the morning proving how invaluable you are. Is it so surprising that I don’t want you taking unnecessary chances with your personal safety?”

“We aren’t going to drive on the interstate.”

“If your sisters were in this truck, wouldn’t you expect them to buckle up?”

That set him back. If the girls had been in the truck, he’d have buckled his seat belt without even thinking about it, because he always did when they were with him and because he always insisted that they do the same. Maybe he’d gotten in the habit of not fastening the thing when he was working on the farm, but that was no excuse. He tamped down his unreasonable anger and felt embarrassment rise in its place. He closed his eyes, set his jaw, then made himself relax it again.

“You’re right.” He pulled the seat belt across him and shoved the hasp into the clip next to his hip, then he yanked the transmission into gear and set off down a track alongside the house, probably worn down during construction.

“You’re the one who has a problem with your age,” she grumbled.

“Well, if I do,” he retorted, “it’s because so many other people have shown me that it’s a problem for them.”

“I understand that,” she told him, “but I’m not one of them. So far you’ve demonstrated great maturity—despite that little outburst just now.”

He pointed a look at her. “And you didn’t have a little outburst just now?”

She looked away, one hand going to a curl that had worked its way free in front of her ear. “Well, yeah, I did.” She turned an impish smile on him. “But nobody’s ever accused me of demonstrating maturity.”

He laughed, resentment waning. “I like honesty in a woman.”

She cut her eyes at him. “I’ll try always to be honest with you, Sam.”

Desire slugged him straight in the groin. He jerked his gaze forward, then hunched over the wheel, silently cursing the restrictions of that belt. “Th-that’s good. Partners should be honest with one another.”

“We’re going to be good together. I know we are.”

He nearly burst his zipper. Abruptly, he guided the truck off the trail to the left, hoping that the buck and bounce of crossing rough ground would prove an adequate distraction for both of them.

Sierra pushed back into her seat. “What are you doing?”

“Just trying to get the lay of the land.”

So much for honesty.

“I’m not sure I should’ve let you talk me into this,” Sierra murmured, stepping up into the bank lobby with Sam at her side.

“The door swings both ways,” he reminded her succinctly. “I don’t know what you’re carping about, though. It’s my credit.”

“But I’m supposed to provide the capital.”

“You are. You’re securing my credit with your capital and reestablishing your own in the process. Without risking your precious home, I might add.”

Sierra sighed, convinced again but still not liking it. He was taking a huge chance by putting his own credit rating on the line like this. For her dream. She wasn’t entirely persuaded that it was going to work out, though. Surely no one would loan such a young man the kind of money they were seeking.

Zeke Ontario came out of his office and strode toward them, hand outstretched. “Sam. Sierra. I’m surprised to see you two here together.”

Sam spoke up before Sierra had a chance to do so. “Sierra and I have entered into a partnership, Zeke.”

“Not that flower thing,” the banker said impatiently.

“That very promising flower thing,” Sam confirmed, nodding at Sierra, “and we’ve got the figures to prove it.”

Sierra held out the large envelope that contained their papers and lifted her chin. “What would you say to an initial profit of twenty-five thousand per acre?”

Zeke Ontario’s bushy gray eyebrows went straight up, but to Sierra’s irritation, he looked to Sam for confirmation. “Is this true?”

“You know I like to err on the conservative side, Zeke,” Sam drawled.

“Well,” the elderly banker said, sweeping an arm toward his office, “let’s have us a little chat then.”

“Thought you’d say that,” Sam teased, laying his hand in the small of Sierra’s back and ushering her forward.

Sierra felt a little thrill of victory. Or was it something else?

She tried to push that aside as she preceded the men into the office. To her deep personal embarrassment, she was beginning to feel too much attraction to her young partner, and she could just imagine what her father would say to that if he should ever learn of it. He still hadn’t forgiven her for eloping with Dennis Carlton ten years ago, and it didn’t help that he’d been right about Dennis, either.

She’d been a foolish nineteen-year-old, at odds with her father since the death of her mother some seven years earlier. She’d been so sure that Dennis would give her the affection and approval that her father hadn’t, but she’d been nothing more to Dennis than his ticket to the easy life. By the time Dennis realized that marrying the boss’s daughter had actually achieved the opposite of what he’d hoped, Sierra had been pregnant with Tyree. When it had become apparent that not even the birth of his granddaughter would soften Frank’s intractable disapproval, Dennis had split for greener pastures and only kept in contact with Tyree intermittently until news of Sierra’s inheritance had reached him. Now both her father and her ex were tugging at her again. Her father was trying to dictate her life while Dennis was doing his best to squeeze money out of her via their daughter.

Sam seated her in front of Mr. Ontario’s desk and dropped down into the chair next to her while Zeke made his lumbering way to his own place. Sierra removed papers from the portfolio, placed them on the desk and explained each one. The banker studied the papers, listened attentively, then looked to Sam. Again.

“Did you put this together, Sam?”

“Yes. They’re solid figures, Zeke. I’ve cited my sources carefully.”

“Of course. Hmm.” He studied the papers a few minutes longer, then hit the intercom on his desk and asked for a loan officer to be sent in before kicking back in his chair. “I had no idea flowers could be so profitable. You’ve put together a good business plan. We’ll check your sources, and if they pan out, which I’m sure they will, I don’t see any problem, especially with Sierra’s backing.”

Sierra stiffened, but she’d barely gotten her mouth open before Sam said firmly, “Sierra’s not ‘backing me,’ Zeke. I told you already. We’re partners. This whole thing was Sierra’s idea, as you well know.”

The old banker had the good grace to look chagrined. He actually tried to smile at Sierra. She looked down her nose at the old chauvinist, then flashed Sam a grateful smile. He winked, patiently awaiting the loan officer.

Sam was feeling pretty good when they walked out of the bank. The sun was shining, the ambient temperature had risen to almost forty degrees, and the first installment of a considerable sum of money had been deposited into his and Sierra’s joint business account—S & S Farms. They’d pulled the name out of thin air on the spur of the moment, joking about whose initial should come first. Zeke had suggested that they look into incorporation, and they’d agreed to discuss the idea with her attorney, Corbett Johnson. This thing was coming together. He had a good feeling about it, and from the way Sierra was smiling at him, he’d say she did, too.