Alice Sharpe - Make Me a Match

“Is it? How about the coquettish way you acted in his hospital room?”

“I don’t even know how to act coquettish.”

“You were managing just fine. Batting your eyelashes, giggling…he may look old to you, but he’s a man, and a man, especially an older man, is susceptible to a pretty young woman coming on to him, taking him flowers, offering to care for him in his hour of need, cooking his favorite dinner. I don’t even want to know how you figured out what he liked to eat. Who did you pump for that information, his sister, his sons? No, don’t tell me. And, by the way, this meeting isn’t a secret. Tomorrow morning, I’ll tell Victor everything you say tonight, so I guess you’d better pack your bag and go home, the party is over.”

While she admired his loyalty and spunk, he was definitely endangering her plans and more to the point, the conclusion he had reached about her motives was downright insulting. If she told him the real reason she was interested in Victor Reed, would it make a difference? Sure, he might think slightly better of her, but would he really care if she was here for herself or for her mother? She doubted it. And what was this about money? Since when were small town veterinarians wealthy? She added, “Dr. Reed has money?”

“You know he does. Loads of it.”

“How?”

“Wise investments, his wife’s estate. Don’t act dumb with me, Lora.”

There was no denying that money was nice and that it would relieve a lot worries, but money had nothing to do with love. Besides, due to her own resourcefulness, they would soon have a tidy influx of cash. Why else did she have that greenhouse and why else had she been slaving away during every spare moment? Unsure how to handle this situation, she started out by saying, “You’re wrong about me.”

“I checked the facts—”

“Okay, not wrong about everything, just about my motives.”

“Then explain yourself.”

“No.”

He looked surprised. Running a hand through his hair, he regarded her steadily until he finally said, “No?”

“No. I don’t see any reason why I should explain myself to you. I’m exactly who I say I am. My name is Lora Gifford. I work with my mom and grandma at our family florist shop. Okay, I borrowed Boggle from my neighbor and I made up a phone number but that’s because you wouldn’t stop flirting with me and I’ve recently sworn off men.”

His brow narrowed. “I did not flirt with you,” he said.

“Oh, come off it. You wanted my phone number.”

“I told you, that’s office protocol.”

“Give me a break. I’ve been flirted with by real pros. I know when a man is coming on to me.”

He sank down onto the bench and stared up at her. “Lora Gifford, you’re either an amazingly talented dissembler or you’re endowed with thought processes I can’t begin to comprehend. I honestly don’t know which it is. I’m not sure it matters.”

She felt a smile threatening. She tried to nip it in the bud—it seemed an inappropriate time to smile—but she just couldn’t help herself. She was dying to tell him all about her plot to unite Dr. Reed and her mother and share a good laugh, but he’d sworn he’d tell Dr. Reed everything she said, so how could she? Everyone knew that once something like that was common knowledge, the game was as good as over, and she truly did like Victor Reed. In fact, she’d set her sights on him and nothing was going to ruin it.

Jon frowned at her smile.

She sat beside him. “I wouldn’t hurt or take advantage of Dr. Reed any more than you would,” she said. Sitting so close had been a miscalculation on her part. She hadn’t realized how short the benches were, how close they would be forced to sit, how his thigh and shoulder would brush against hers. She wanted to move away, but as she was trying to elicit his trust, suddenly jumping to her feet seemed counterproductive. She stayed put and tried to think clearly.

“I know my actions seem squirrely,” she said, now aware of his body heat permeating the two layers of cloth separating their skin. “I know I’ve lied to you, but I genuinely like Dr. Reed and I have no desire to take advantage of him in any way. I didn’t know he had money, it doesn’t matter. I don’t want his house or anything else.”

That little voice piped up in the back of her head again. How about his partner? Do you want him?

No! she told her libido.

“I wish I could believe you,” he said.

“Dr. Reed and I kind of connected at the hospital. He knew my dad. I’m not trying to seduce him, that’s silly. I just want to get to know him. Is that so hard to understand?”

“That’s all very nice,” he said, staring right into her eyes, “but it doesn’t explain why you came into the office to meet him in the first place, does it?”

“You’re not going to give an inch, are you?”

“Not when it concerns Victor.”

Standing abruptly, she said, “You have nothing to tell Dr. Reed about me except for some vague, unfounded suspicions and the fact that I commandeered a cat and was embarrassed to admit I brought the flowers myself as an excuse to meet him. Dr. Reed is paying me to stay here and I need the money to fix the van. So back off and leave me alone.”

“Then you are here for money.”

“It’s a job.”

“I’ll pay you what he said he’d pay you if you leave right now.”

“No, thanks, I actually like to work for my money. Why don’t you go back to your own place?”

“No way,” he said. Standing, he added, “This is a warning. I plan to stay here as long as you do. Someone has to look out for Victor’s interests. I’m going to watch every step you take.”

She shrugged. “Maybe I’ll keep an eye on you to make sure you’re as noble as you say you are.”

Eyes flashing, he said, “I’m not noble, I just know when someone is not who they appear to be.”

She shook her head and walked back toward the house, aware she should be unnerved by his threat, feeling a shimmery thrill instead.

He was going to keep an eye on her, hmm? That should be interesting.

Okay, so she’d sworn off men.

That didn’t mean she couldn’t drive one remarkably irritating specimen a little crazy—strictly on his own terms—did it?

She added a swish to her walk.

Take that!

“May I help you?”

Jon Woods closed the glass door behind him and turned to find an older woman with flyaway white hair and robin egg-blue eyes.

Smoothing her hands over a yellow apron emblazoned with the words Lora Dunes Florist, she tilted her head and regarded him. Seldom had he been studied with quite so diligent a gaze. He felt she was taking in and recording every inch of his six feet, every one of his one hundred and seventy-five pounds, every brownish hair on his head.

“I need flowers,” he said.

She smiled brilliantly. “You’ve come to the right place. Oh, unless you need them arranged because I’m all alone here and not very good at actually making fancy arrangements. Now, for that, young man, you need to see my daughter or better yet, my granddaughter. Lora is a whiz with flowers, it’s in her blood. Why she could make a handful of weeds look like a million bucks.” She glanced at her watch and added, “She should be back from midday deliveries in about an hour. I could fetch you some nice iced tea while you wait.…”

Her voice trailed off expectantly. He couldn’t help but smile. The woman had said everything so fast she was now a tad breathless.

He said, “I just want some flowers.”

“This way to the cooler,” she said over her shoulder. “Is this for your wife?”

“For a friend,” he said firmly.

The older woman stopped in front of a refrigerated glass case in which resided dozens and dozens of flowers of all shapes, colors, sizes. He’d never seen so many flowers in one place at one time. “Do you actually send these specific flowers all the way to Los Angeles?”