THE GROOM CAME...C.O.D.?

Well, maybe not exactly. But just when unlucky-in-love AJ (that’s Agnes Jane to you!) had decided that she was going to focus on her career as a caterer and keep her mind off men, that’s when fate sent her a delivery she couldn’t ignore. In the form of Sergeant Shane Harrison, bearer of French chocolates, and newly arrived for a short-term project. And though clearly the good sergeant was as attracted to the lovely caterer as she was to him, Shane made it clear that when his job was done, he was outta there....

So now AJ has a project of her own—convincing the handsome footloose soldier that though he’d planned to breeze through town on his way to his next adventure, falling in love is the biggest adventure of all!

AJ smiled.

Oh, how she loved food and the effect it had on people. That was because every dish she created was infused with her passion for cooking. She watched Shane as he was enjoying a bite of cold lobster salad, and the sheer bliss on his face made her want to fall in love.

The thought unleashed a swarm of butterflies in her stomach. She’d fed plenty of people since Danny had died, but the possibility of dating, much less giving her heart away again, hadn’t seemed in the realm of available options.

The sensible part of her wanted to pull back, play it safe. But the butterflies had already flown off with her heart and even the sensible part of her couldn’t do a thing to stop it.

She took a deep breath against the rush.

Oh, no, this was not good.

It was absolutely wonderful.

Dear Reader,

After college, my husband and I decided to raise our family in the small town where I grew up. Even though the surrounding area has grown tremendously over the decades, so much remains steadfast and unchanged in my community: the high school, the football stadium, the farmers’ market, the quaint downtown with its old cobblestones and gigantic laurel oaks stretching protective branches over those who come to shop and eat and meet.

While some people need to get away from the old and familiar, I’ve always taken comfort in being a thread woven into in the well-worn fabric of an established Southern community. That’s where I got my idea for Texas Wedding, the first of three books in the Celebrations, Inc. series. When Sergeant Shane Harrison finds himself on temporary assignment in Celebration, Texas, heroine AJ Sherwood-Antonelli shows him the importance of family, friends and community.

I hope you’ll enjoy Shane and AJ’s story. Please be sure to look for the final two books in this series in October and November. And be sure to let me know what you think of them. You can reach me at nrobardsthompson@yahoo.com.

Warmly,

Nancy Robards Thompson

Texas Wedding

Nancy Robards Thompson

www.millsandboon.co.uk

NANCY ROBARDS THOMPSON

Award-winning author Nancy Robards Thompson is a sister, wife and mother who has lived the majority of her life south of the Mason-Dixon line. As the oldest sibling, she reveled in her ability to make her brother laugh at inappropriate moments, and she soon learned she could get away with it by proclaiming “What? I wasn’t doing anything.” It’s no wonder that upon graduating from college with a degree in journalism, she discovered that reporting “just the facts” bored her silly. Since she hung up her press pass to write novels full-time, critics have deemed her books “funny, smart and observant.” She loves chocolate, champagne, cats and art (though not necessarily in that order). When she’s not writing, she enjoys spending time with her family, reading, hiking and doing yoga.

Special thanks to Caroline Phipps

for educating me on the Army.

This book is dedicated to the memory of

Lynn Miller Robards. You will live forever in our hearts.

Contents

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Excerpt

Prologue

When the tall man entered Maya’s Chocolate Shop, the warm gust of wind that blew in with him—jangling the bells on the door and ruffling the ribbons on the gift baskets—seemed to sing a certain familiar name, but Maya didn’t quite catch it.

She cocked her ear and listened harder...but heard nothing. Hmm... She thought she’d heard a whisper, but she couldn’t be sure. Especially when the door clicked shut and stillness settled over the shop. All Maya could hear was the cadence of the man’s boots marking time on the wooden floor as he ventured deeper into her shop.

Even so, one thing was certain—the guy’s appearance in her store had stirred the winds of love. There was no mistaking it, even if she couldn’t readily identify his intended.

The woman would reveal herself in due time.

In addition to being a third-generation chocolatier, Maya was un marieur, a matchmaker. It was an avocation of sorts. Some claimed it was her obsession. But when the winds of love blew in as they had a moment ago, she couldn’t help herself. It was a challenge she couldn’t resist, and she wouldn’t rest until she’d done everything in her power to bring “the intendeds” together.

“Bonjour!” Maya offered the handsome man her warmest greeting, which he generously returned. His was a wide toothy smile. He looked American. Or possibly Scandinavian, though Maya’s bet was on the former.

“May I help you?” she asked.

“Just looking, thanks.”

Oui. Américain.

Handsome as he was, he hadn’t come for her. But he had turned up for a reason, Maya’s instincts insisted.

The signs were subtle. Visceral. A feeling that raised the hair on the nape of her neck and tingled its way up her nerve endings, before it settled down in the pit of her stomach. A figurative “you’ve got mail.” A metaphorical message she couldn’t completely qualify, other than to know that, in the past, when the signs presented themselves in this particular fashion, they were never wrong.

She regarded him for a moment as he perused the shop. He looked like a soldier, though he wasn’t in uniform. There was something about his close-cropped sandy hair, his bronzed skin and those broad, broad shoulders and muscular arms. Something in the way he carried himself suggested combat.

Hmm...Maya thought. Perhaps the combat wasn’t necessarily physical. More internal...

A man at war with himself.

All the more reason she must get busy and do her job.

“I just set out some fresh truffles,” Maya said. “Would you care for a sample?”

Chapter One

Sergeant Shane Harrison regarded the photograph of the pretty blonde as he sat in his car, which was parallel parked across from the storefront. His gaze zipped from the photo to the black metal numbers marking the address, and then to the lettering on the window that spelled out Celebrations, Inc., Catering Company.

Yep, this was the place.

His gaze zagged back to the photograph for one last look at the woman’s enticing smile. At least the first person he’d met in Celebration, Texas, had a pretty face. He’d always been a sucker for a pretty face. The photograph had been the tipping point that had convinced him to make this personal delivery of chocolate and snapshots to a civilian.

He wasn’t in the habit of playing delivery boy for strangers. However, when he’d visited Maya’s Chocolate Shop as he’d passed through St. Michel on his way back to the United States from the Middle East, he’d struck up a conversation with Maya, the shop’s proprietor. When she’d learned the next stop on his tour was Celebration, Texas, she’d nearly leaped over the counter in excitement.

Maya had a good friend who’d just opened a catering business in Celebration. Her name was AJ Sherwood-Antonelli—a mouthful of a name if he’d ever heard one. Maya thought it would be fun to surprise AJ with a special delivery of “celebratory chocolates,” as she put it. She’d said something about a “chocolate-gram from a nice-looking soldier”—or something like that. Her words might’ve embarrassed him, if he’d been prone to such a weakness. But he wasn’t. In the end—after several samples of Maya’s sweets—it was her bribe of a box of hand-dipped truffles as payment that convinced him to bring a box to her friend.

Actually, if the truth be told, it was the photograph of the beautiful woman that persuaded him. He studied the picture again. Something about AJ’s smile captured him; or maybe it was something in the way her eyes shone as she looked through the camera.

Whatever it was, that indefinable “something” made him want to know her better. Or at least meet her. He wasn’t looking for anything long-term. Actually, he wasn’t looking for anything. Period.

For the next six weeks, he was stationed at Fort Hood. He’d be spending most of his days in Celebration on an undesirable assignment scouting sites for an off-base MOUT school (Military Operations Urban Terrain). The assignment, known in the army as “Realtor duty,” was the hell most soldiers dreaded. Once he’d secured the venue, he’d help set up the school training facility.

Six weeks of drudgery. He couldn’t think of many other things he’d rather not do.

Centering the stack of photographs on the box of chocolates, Shane gave himself a mental shake, preempting a downward mood spiral. The assignment was only six weeks. Then he’d head off on a plum European assignment he’d coveted for eighteen years. In the meantime, he needed to just suck it up.

So what was another six-week tour?

It was a trade off. That’s what it was. And even though getting stuck in suburban hell made him feel like doing anything but “celebrating,” maybe the diversion of female company would help pass the time.

* * *

The door chime beckoned AJ from the backroom kitchen where she’d been perfecting a selection of sliders to serve at A Taste of Celebration, a food festival sponsored by the Celebration, Texas, Chamber of Commerce. The event was next weekend, and it would be the first big community-wide showcase for her new catering company. She’d done a steady stream of business over the past year and a half out of her home kitchen, but A Taste of Celebration was the first time Celebrations, Inc. would make its debut to the public as an official business with its own commercial kitchen and office space.

It was September, and even though the holidays were a couple of months away, it wasn’t too early to start getting the word out about the catering company’s new digs. People would start thinking about the holidays soon, and in the meantime, there would be tailgating parties and fall festivals—all sorts of catering opportunities. A Taste of Celebration had the potential to earn her some bookings.

She wiped off her hands and made her way into the reception area. Since she was the only one in the office, she kept the door locked. Not that she felt unsafe in this town where everyone knew everyone... Okay, so maybe she did have a few issues about safety. Even so, she kept the door locked because she didn’t want to be surprised by someone happening in unannounced.

But surprised she was—and a little wary—when she saw the tall, good-looking stranger peering in through the glass and clutching a sack of photographs and a small box.

She was five-three, and he had a good foot on her in height. He also had close-cropped blond hair, broad shoulders and muscular arms. Quite a nice sight to behold, but the frivolity of his Adonis-like assets faded when he rapped on the glass door again and held up one of the photos.

She squinted at it, and her curiosity blossomed when she realized it was a picture of her and her friend Maya LeBlanc.

It had been taken last fall when she and her friends had gone over to St. Michel with their boarding-school buddy Margeaux Broussard to support her as she mended relations with her terminally ill father.

Hoping she didn’t have flour on her face, she wiped her hands on her apron and gave a quick swipe across her cheeks before she turned the lock and opened the door. After all, a stranger in possession of a photo of her with her friend Maya surely wasn’t there to cause trouble.

She opened the door a crack. “May I help you?”

“AJ Sherwood-Antonelli?”

“Yes? I’m AJ...”

“Special delivery, all the way from St. Michel.” He slid the photo through the small opening in the door. She accepted it.

“Where did you get this?”

“From Maya. This is for you, too.” He held out the pink and black box, which AJ immediately recognized as Maya’s signature package. Her mouth watered at the thought of the confections inside.

“She said to tell you congratulations on your new business. I think there’s a note in the box.”

She opened the door wider and took the chocolates. “Won’t you please come in?”

He stepped inside, glancing around the unfinished lobby area—all plain, plastered drywall, no furniture. Not even a desk. A self-conscious wave washed over AJ.

She’d moved in three months ago. Essentially, Celebrations, Inc. was a one-woman show financed by her own seed money, which was supplemented by monetary and in-kind investments from her friends Caroline, Pepper and Sydney. They helped her in various capacities such as prepping desserts, marketing, booking and serving. However, AJ had been so busy with the food end of the business, she hadn’t had time to fix up the front of the house.

In the little bit of free time AJ had, she’d concentrated on testing new recipes and refining the company’s menu. The kitchen had been the sole focus of her efforts. There hadn’t been much time left for decorating the public area of the small space she was leasing.

Pepper had been after her about it. AJ was so embarrassed by the sudden realization of how stark and unfinished this first impression must be, that she made a mental note to give Pepper the green light to have her way with it.

She could already hear her friend’s I-told-you-so’s. And they’d be well deserved.

Standing here with this attractive man, AJ was acutely aware that if business kept growing at the current rate, having Pepper do something about the reception area would alleviate this woefully self-conscious feeling she currently had standing here with—with—

“And who are you?” she asked.

“Shane Harrison.” He offered his hand and she accepted, giving it a quick shake.

“Nice to meet you, Shane. How do you know Maya?”

He smiled and the appeal of his crooked grin dazzled her for a moment. “I don’t, really,” he said. “I happened into her shop last week while I was in St. Michel, and when she learned I was coming to Celebration, Texas, well, basically she bribed me with chocolate to bring you this care package. Oh—here are the rest of the photos.”

AJ accepted them. As she flipped through them one at a time, smiling at the memory of the trip to St. Michel she, Pepper and Caroline had taken a few months ago, her mind raced as she remembered Maya talking about how she fancied herself a matchmaker.

But that’s not what this special delivery is about, she told herself.

AJ stole a quick, assessing glance at Shane, then returned her gaze to the photos. He was a good-looking guy, tall and tanned and solidly built with sturdy, mile-wide shoulders. Not at all my type. Even so, the thought sparked a heat that started in her cleavage and crawled uncontrollably up her neck, until it burned on her cheeks.

It was ridiculous. No, not only ridiculous, just plain absurd. When was the last time a great set of shoulders caused her to blush like a high school girl with a crush?

It had been a very long time.

She hated being out of control.

As she flipped through the photos one more time, she bit the insides of her cheeks hard until finally she felt her face cooling.

“Well, Mr. Harrison—” she began.

“Actually, it’s Sergeant Harrison. I’m stationed over at Fort Hood for the next six weeks or so. But actually, I’m living in town for closer proximity to a project I’m heading up.”

A military man.

Even though he wasn’t in uniform, she could see that he fit the bill. Physically fit with shoulders so wide he could probably carry the weight of a nation...

Inwardly, she rolled her eyes at the cheesy sentiment, bringing herself back down to earth by reminding herself that shouldering the weight of a nation went hand in hand with a willingness to fight to the death for it.

She’d once loved a man who’d sworn to serve and protect. And he was dead now. The pain of that memory helped deflate the silly direction Maya’s living, breathing candygram was tempting her thoughts.

“Thank you for delivering this, Sergeant Harrison, but I have to get back to work. I was just getting ready to grill some sliders.”

For a split second she considered asking him in for a taste test. Instead, she extended her hand. He gave it a perfunctory shake. Then AJ reached for the door and held it open. “Have a nice stay in Celebration. It’s a lovely town.”

He offered a brisk nod and turned to leave. As she watched him walk away, she had a sinking feeling this wouldn’t be the last time she saw Sergeant Shane Harrison.

Her heart betrayed her and leaped at the thought.

Chapter Two

When an assignment landed Shane in a new town, one of his first orders of personal business on his first day off was to familiarize himself with the lay of the land.

Even though he didn’t particularly want to be in Celebration, Texas, he’d decided to make the best of it and explore. Earlier in the week, when he’d delivered the chocolates to AJ, he’d noticed a poster in her shop’s window advertising “A Taste of Celebration,” a fundraiser to benefit a new pediatric wing at Celebration Memorial Hospital. The sampling of fare from local restaurants and caterers was happening today in the town square. Despite his lack of appetite for small-town living and all the ghosts it conjured, he was always up for a good burger and a beer. Getting to know Celebration through its local cuisine was the best way to face down this assignment. Well, that and possibly the best chance to raise a glass with AJ Sherwood-Antonelli.

A pretty face and a good meal.

What more did a man need?

Shane parked on a side street of a residential neighborhood about a quarter of a mile away from downtown. He unfolded all six foot four of himself out of his shiny black Ford F-150. The truck was his baby. Since his living expenses were negligible and his life was signed over to the U.S. Army, it was the one indulgence he afforded himself. The truck had been in military storage during his tour of the Middle East. It felt good to be back in the driver’s seat.

As he hit the remote, locking the truck, a loud whistle split the air. “Hey, man, nice ride.”

Shane turned toward the direction of the words that weren’t so much a compliment as they were a mocking challenge.

Four teenage boys loitered on the corner opposite from where he’d parked. Shane hadn’t noticed them until now.

“Thanks,” he returned.

Something in the group’s collective posture and body language made him pause, then glance in his car’s window to make sure he’d put away the GPS and anything else of value.

He had.

He looked back at the group wanting them to know he was taking a mental snapshot of them. All four were Caucasian, probably sixteen or seventeen, all medium height, but one was taller and bigger. Three had dark hair; one was blond. They all wore sloppy T-shirts. Two sported holey jeans. One boy—the tallest kid with long, dark messy hair that hung past his shoulders—wore his pants so low they rode down his butt and his boxers were visible. Another kid was wearing long denim shorts and had a tattoo of what looked like a dragon or some sort of serpent winding around his left calf.

They certainly didn’t blend in, but they were probably harmless—this was Celebration, after all. Since he’d been in town, he hadn’t seen such a rough-looking gang hanging out. Maybe they’d come for the food festival. He wanted to give them the benefit of the doubt, but a voice of reason made him wary. But what was he supposed to say to the sheriff? I didn’t like the way the boys were whistling at my truck?

Punks.

Putting an end to the staring standoff, Shane turned and began walking toward the square, knowing he shouldn’t judge. He was new in town and hated feeling conspicuous. So, he put them out of his mind.

It had been a long week on the new assignment, highlighted by meetings with construction crew chiefs and engineers who were working on the new training facility. Shane was exhausted—not from the work itself, as it wasn’t very demanding physically or mentally. It was more like babysitting.

He hadn’t gotten a decent night’s sleep since he’d arrived. In the army, he moved around so much he usually didn’t have a problem adjusting to a new place. But he wasn’t adjusting well to Celebration. The desk job gave him way too much time for clock watching and restlessness. Because work wasn’t occupying his mind, his thoughts had been running an endless loop of nonsense he couldn’t seem to shut off.

Even as he walked away, his mind replayed the way the teenagers had stopped their horseplay and called out to him; the way his guard had gone on instant alert; the way he’d turned back to face them down and how the short, stocky kid who seemed to be their ringleader—or at least the loudest one of the bunch—had hollered across the street, “Hey, man, nice ride.”

Shane bristled again and glanced back, but the kids were gone.

Training in counter terrorism—and life’s hard knocks—had taught him to be fearless in the face of danger. In fact, he liked to joke that there was nothing like a brush with death to make a man feel truly alive. But tying a man like Shane to a desk gave him too much time to think. That’s when he fell apart.

He smirked at the absurdity of his thought. They were just a bunch of smart alecks and he shouldn’t give them the satisfaction of responding. His reaction proved he was bone tired. This outing would clear his head, reset his mind.

With temperatures in the mid-seventies, fall was already making its presence known. Even though it was still technically summer—the equinox was two weeks away—the punishing heat of summer had given way to mild days and nights that were downright cool.

Shane drew in a breath through his nose, expecting to smell a loamy scent, autumn’s calling card—it was a reflex whenever he thought of his favorite time of year—but instead, he was tantalized by the aroma of A Taste of Celebration.

His stomach growled in response. The distraction—or reminder that perhaps he and this place might reach common ground through the food—helped him reframe and redirect his thinking.

So what if the job was boring? His objective was to serve out his MOUT duty and get the hell out of Dodge...or Celebration, as the case may be. What lay on the other side of construction hell was a plum European tour where he intended to exorcise the demons that had haunted him far too long.

In the meantime, he needed to get a hold of himself and calm the monkey mind that was wearing him down. “Monkey mind” was what his mother had called it way back when he’d been prone to similar restlessness as a boy, when his mind jumped from notion to notion as a monkey swings from tree branch to tree branch.

He swiped a hand over his eyes as if the gesture could scrub away the recollection. But his mother’s sweet smiling face was freshly imprinted on his mind. Memories like this were landmines that he preferred to avoid. He blew out a breath and looked around for something to refocus on.

The possibility of running into AJ again. That should be enough to grab the attention of any red-blooded man, he thought as he walked. And thinking of her did make him feel marginally better.

So, with seeing her to anticipate, what the hell was wrong with him? Feeling of loss like this hadn’t hit him this hard in twenty years. Maybe it was the impending anniversary.

Twenty years. Wow. It seems like yesterday.

After the explosion that had killed his family, he’d learned to shut down his thoughts when the mind apes got restless. He knew from experience if you loved too deeply you got hurt; if you dwelled on the hurt it ended up eating you alive. So, he’d become a specialist at isolating the enemy emotion, neutralizing it so that he didn’t have to give it another thought.

Shane had become an expert at feeling nothing. It made him a damn good soldier. Wasn’t that all that mattered, since he had nothing else to live for?

He’d been eighteen years old when he’d lost his family—his mother, father, sister and brother. Gone. In the snap of a finger, they were gone and his world was shattered beyond repair.

Why am I alive? Why did they have to die? Maybe if I hadn’t stayed behind in Italy?

In the first few years, he’d asked himself these questions nearly every day, until it had gotten to the point where the what-ifs had threatened to bury him. That’s when he’d to lock it all away.

Why, all of a sudden, were the ghosts he’d so carefully sequestered haunting him again?

As he continued his journey up the tree-shaded sidewalk toward the square, he glanced at the small clapboard houses that lined the walk. His mood darkened with each well-manicured lawn he passed. After several tours of the Middle East and living in government bachelor digs when he was in the States, it was no wonder this homey little town was bringing up issues. It reminded him so much of his childhood.

Fort Hood was just far enough away that it was more practical for him to stay in a rent-by-the-week efficiency. It wasn’t much, but at least it was closer to the construction site than commuting from the base.

This assignment was only temporary, he reminded himself. He’d be out of here soon enough. Then came Europe. And after that...he’d wait and see what life and the U.S. Army dictated.

In the meantime, distant strains of country music and aromas of delicious food beckoned him. His stomach growled again. Starving, he inhaled deeply, trying to discern among the mélange of inviting scents if there was a grilled burger in his near future.

It smelled promising.

As Shane closed the distance between his appetite and the town’s offerings, the sound of a bouncing basketball grabbed his attention. In the driveway of a two-story brick house, two boys were engaged in a game of Horse. The sound of a blaring car horn made one of them miss the basket. A mangy looking mixed-breed dog darted across the sidewalk, having narrowly dodged the honking car. Shane watched as the mutt, who seemed unfazed by his near brush with death, loped up to the boys, barking and dancing around them, licking their faces and wiggling in delight.

“Hey! You’d better put a leash on your furry friend,” Shane called to the boys. They froze, ceasing their whoops and giggles, staring at him warily as if they’d just noticed him. “He almost got hit by that car.”

The boys said nothing. They just stood there, the dog in between them and the stranger.

Shane didn’t mean to scare them. See, that was one of the things he hated most about small towns like Celebration. Everyone knew everyone. Everyone was accounted for...part of a family or at least the fabric of the community. It was just like where he grew up.

The boys didn’t answer, so he kept walking, hoping they would heed his suggestion to curb their pet. Loss hit hard when you lived in a sheltered world that fostered a false sense of immortality. By the time he reached the next driveway, the whoops of laughter and barking began again.

In the distance, he saw the town square, a park dotted with white tents. The source of the delicious aromas, he suspected. He waited for a couple of cars to pass before making his way across Main Street.

Closer to the square, the street had been blocked off with large traffic barriers to allow for free-flowing pedestrian traffic. It appeared that the entire town of 1,288 had turned out for the food fest and that everyone was here milling about.

Did the square have room for 1,289?

Shane bought his ticket and entered the fray. The first booth he came to was a restaurant called Quiche Me Quick. They offered a sampling of quiches.

Quiche?

He hesitated. But since the samples were cut into small pieces and he could take it and eat while he kept walking, he grabbed a plate and did just that.

In fact, he walked right past the next booth. Petite Four, was offering an array of bite-size cakes that were covered in shiny, pastel-colored icing and decorated to look like little presents. Too sweet for an empty stomach. The sight of them made his teeth hurt.

The third booth was even less promising. It was Deloris’s Delicacies, offering what looked like fluffy pink icing that smelled like fish. As if the appearance wasn’t unappealing enough, the smell nearly did him in.

Judging by the first few booths, it looked like the festival was about froufrou food; he craved something substantial. He inhaled again to make sure the delicious smell of something cooking on the grill hadn’t been a sensory mirage. It was still there. It made his mouth water.

“Hi! I’m Deloris. Care to try my salmon mousse?” A petite, middle-age woman, who looked like she would be more at home in a Junior League meeting than hawking fishy fluff, held out a white plastic spoon heaped with the unappetizing stuff. “I made it myself. When I bring it to parties everyone just goes wild over it and asks me for the recipe. They always say, ‘Deloris, you should go into business and sell that mousse of yours.’ So I did. Here, hon, have some.”

She seemed so proud. The last thing he wanted to do was hurt her feelings. He wasn’t picky, but the fact that he could smell the goo from a distance made him hesitate, despite how a steady stream of people drifted by and grabbed spoons.

“You know what? I just got here and I’m making my rounds to see what looks good. I don’t want to get too full too fast.”

She smiled. “Well, I understand. But you come back and see me. I’ll save you a bite, okay?”

He tilted his chin in what he hoped was a noncommittal gesture. “By the way, would you happen to know where I could find the Celebrations, Inc., Catering booth?”

“I don’t know right off the top of my head, hon, but I’ll look at the festival map and find out for you.”

She placed the mousse spoon on an iced silver tray, walked to a table at the back of the tent and returned with a map of vendor locations.

“Let’s see...” She traced the page with a nail that was painted the same color as her mousse. “Ah! Here we go. We’re here.” She tapped the paper. “You’ll want to scoot right across there.” She traced a path away from her booth, around the large gazebo in the center of the square—where a Country-Western band was playing and people were line dancing—to the other side of the square. “Celebrations, Inc. is in tent number 78. Right under that big old oak tree, across from where everyone’s dancing. Would you like to take this with you?” She offered him the map.

“You might need it later. But thanks for your help.”

She rolled the map into a cylinder. “It was my pleasure. But hey, before you go, are you looking to secure a catering company for an upcoming event? Because I know AJ and if you told her you wanted her to use my mousse, I know she’d do it.”

“Actually, I’m just stopping by her booth to say hello.”

“Oh. Ooh!” Her eyes sparkled as if Shane had confided that he was there to propose to AJ. “How long have you known our AJ?”

Another thing he hated about small towns was how good news tended to travel fast. He needed to nip this in the bud before Deloris told the entire town he and AJ were engaged.

“Actually, I don’t really know her. We have a mutual friend, and I was just stopping by for a second to say hello.”

“Oh.” Deloris looked decidedly disappointed.

As luck would have it, three women walked up to the booth, all hugs and squeals, apparently delighted to have found Deloris and her delicacies. Shane took that opportunity to wave goodbye and make his exit.

He meandered in the general direction Deloris had outlined, past the gazebo, toward the stately oak tree, counting down the booths until he came to number 78. That’s when he realized that the heavenly scent of burgers on the grill was coming from the Celebrations, Inc. tent.

Like a petite, blonde angel, AJ was setting down a tray of small burgers. Exactly what he was craving.

Maybe I should ask her to marry me right now.

Chapter Three

Fluffy clouds like white cotton candy stood out against the brilliant blue sky. What a glorious day to be outside, giving away food. All morning, AJ kept thinking she saw—of all people—that soldier who’d brought her the chocolate. Out of the corner of her eye, she’d catch a glimpse of a tall, broad-shouldered blond guy and immediately her thoughts would skitter to Shane Harrison. Each time it turned out not to be him, a vague sense of disappointment would press down on her.

It was peculiar that she kept thinking she saw him. Usually when that happened, she would end up seeing the person who’d been on her mind.

She didn’t claim to be psychic or think that the false sightings were some sort of precognition; it was just uncanny how often it happened that she thought about someone and later they’d turn up. With the number of false soldier sightings she’d had today, AJ shouldn’t have been surprised when she turned around to set out her ninth tray of samples and found him standing at her tent. Nonetheless her stomach did a triple gainer.

“There you are,” she said.

He narrowed his eyes and cocked his head slightly to the right. “You were expecting me?”

Ugh. “Did I say that out loud?”

“You did.”

She set down the tray on the table and adjusted her latex gloves and smiled at the other people who came up and grabbed the small plates of food she was offering. The festival was so busy and she’d been working at such a brisk clip her thought must have slipped out. Out loud.

Great.

Note to self. Check internal filter. Make sure it is firmly in place.

“Actually, I was speaking in generic terms,” she hedged. Oh, peachy. If she kept this up she’d end up digging herself into a deeper hole. Heat began to creep up her neck. “I knew someone was behind me—lots of people have visited my tent today—and I—I meant to say, ‘There you are.’ You know...as in ‘look what we have here.’ This is for you.”

She nudged the tray toward him. “Have some.” But he continued to squint at her for a few more beats before shifting his gaze to the proffered platter.

“Okay. So, what do we have here?”

“Sliders. Three kinds. I call this one the Tailgater. It’s a beef patty with bacon, cheddar and caramelized onions with barbecue sauce on the side. This one’s the Parisian. It has Brie, ham and sautéed mushrooms. Then there’s the Antipasto. It’s topped with roasted red peppers, spicy salami, provolone and a garlic-basil aioli.”

As he contemplated the platter of mini burgers, it was the first time AJ had the chance to get a good, uninterrupted look at him. She drank him in, his close-cropped sandy hair, the high cheekbones and his straight, slightly too-big nose that balanced his good looks with just the right amount of brawn. He would be too pretty with a nose any smaller—especially given the particular fullness of his lips. Yes, the lips were...sexy.

He looked up and caught her staring.

“May I try one?”

“Of course.”

Her gaze slid down his broad shoulders to his arms, which were tanned to gorgeous end-of-summer bronze perfection. Her focus finally found the tray of sliders.

“In fact, I’d appreciate it if you would try all three and tell me which one you like best,” she said.

“I’d love to,” he said. “I’m somewhat of a burger expert.”

“You are?”

She grabbed a larger paper plate from the supply she’d stashed under the table and used the tongs to dish up three sliders. When he reached for the plate, she noticed his hands were rugged, but the fingernails were short and clean.

Mentally, she checked off the clean hands item on the list of “Man Criteria” she kept in her head. Clean hands told a lot about a guy. Soft, manicured hands would be weird, but clean with short nails were still manly and indicated good grooming. As far as she was concerned, nasty hands were a definite deal-breaker—well, it would be a deal-breaker if she were looking for something more than his opinion on her new recipes.

“Since we’re getting into football season, Celebrations, Inc. is offering catered tailgate picnics. The sliders and crispy onion straws are just some of the items on the menu.”

Realizing the onion straws were missing, she turned to her friends, Sydney and Pepper, who were helping her out today.

Pepper was right behind AJ with a freshly filled tray of burgers. As she placed the burger tray down, she looked appreciatively at Shane, most likely realizing that he was one of the few people in this small Dallas suburb that she didn’t know. She cleared her throat. AJ had known her for so long she didn’t even have to look at her friend to know she wanted an introduction.

“Pepper Merriweather, this is Shane Harrison. He knows Maya. Can you believe it?”

“Really? Enchanté.” Always up for a bit of drama, Pepper extended her hand, not in a handshake, but palm downward and fingers dangling, as if she expected Shane to kiss her hand.

AJ suppressed a smile. Especially when Shane hesitated a moment as if unsure what to do, and finally gave her fingertips a slight squeeze. “Very nice to meet you.”

“You’re obviously not from St. Michel,” Pepper said.

“Pepper!” AJ said. Despite having been through finishing school and having made her debut into polite society, sometimes her friend didn’t realize how off-putting her words could sound.

“What?” she asked, her expression all wide-eyed innocence.

AJ gave her a look.

“What I meant, AJ, was judging by his accent, I gather that he is an American.”

She turned her attention back to Shane, suddenly all smiles and Southern sweetness. “How do you know Maya?”

Shane gave her the short version of how he’d been passing through St. Michel on his way back to the States, and Maya had asked him to bring chocolate to AJ when she learned that he was stationed at Fort Hood.

“AJ, you got chocolates from Maya and you didn’t share them with me?”

“Hey! What kind of burgers are you cooking up?” asked a man who had just walked up to the table.

AJ smiled at Pepper and with an almost imperceptible nod of her head, she silently asked Pepper to tend to the customer, which she did graciously.

“Hey, Syd, how are the onion straws coming along?” AJ asked.

The pretty brunette lifted the metal basket out of the deep fryer. “I have a fresh batch right here,” she said, her British accent upbeat and melodic.

For most of the morning, AJ had been cooking, and Pepper and Sydney had been expediting and greeting the potential customers who stopped by. That’s why AJ felt comfortable giving Shane her full attention now, while Sydney tended to the makeshift kitchen, and Pepper answered questions.

A few seconds later, Sydney gave AJ a who’s-the-hunk? look as she set a basket of onion straws on the table. Again, AJ made introductions and then put a healthy heap of onion straws on Shane’s plate. Sydney uttered a polite, “Very nice to meet you,” and returned to frying the onion straws.

Shane tasted the Tailgater slider first. AJ watched him bite into it. She got enormous pleasure from feeding people. Rapt, she watched Shane as he chewed and swallowed.

“What do you think?” she asked, not even trying to stifle the eagerness in her voice.

He nodded. “It’s delicious, but didn’t you say it had barbecue sauce with it?”

“Oh. Yes, it does.” She glanced at the crowded contents of the table and saw that the barbecue sauce was, indeed, missing.

AJ got the sauce and turned around to find herself staring into the ice-blue eyes of the one person she’d hoped not to see today: her grandmother, Agnes Jane Sherwood. Grandmother’s steely gaze assessed AJ. Judging by the way the matriarch frowned down her aquiline nose, AJ knew her grandmother found her lacking.

No big surprise. She always had. The only thing AJ could do was shake it off.

This was the woman for whom AJ was named—her mother’s feeble attempt to get back into her estranged mother’s good graces after AJ’s mother had eloped with Joey Antonelli. A plumber. A man Agnes had considered so far beneath her daughter that she couldn’t even see that far down the social food chain. When her daughter came back married, Agnes quit speaking to her for years.

Even though her mother and grandmother were on better terms today, Agnes still liked to grouse, “What was I supposed to say? When my friends’ daughters were marrying into families such as the Connecticut Collinses or the Dallas Dashwoods, my daughter has married into the Antonelli Plumbing Antonellis. It was mortifying.”

Apparently, it had been a huge disgrace. One so grave that even after the young bride had saddled her innocent first born with a name like Agnes Jane Sherwood-Antonelli, grandmother hadn’t let AJ’s mother back into her good graces.

It was no help, either, that Agnes Jane Sherwood’s namesake had decided to become a chef. Cooking was a chore the hired help quietly took care of. Not something a Sherwood fretted over and certainly not something they found enjoyable. Grandmother said, “Obviously AJ has inherited her father’s working-class DNA.”

Today, what made matters worse was that Grandmother was the chair of A Taste of Celebration. Obviously, the chair in name only, because she seemed just as surprised to find her granddaughter part of the festival.

“Flipping burgers? Really, Agnes Jane, how could you embarrass me— How could you embarrass yourself like this?”

A sudden hush seemed to settle over the square as the eye of Hurricane Agnes settled under the Celebrations, Inc. tent. As ever, her grandmother’s energy was harsh and commanding, a presence that seemed to vibrate. Or maybe the vibration was simply the sound of blood rushing through AJ’s ears as she stood there mortified, watching Shane watch this embarrassing confrontation.

“Have you been reduced to serving fast food?” Agnes continued.

Pepper came up behind AJ and put a supportive hand on her shoulder. Something in that kind show of I’ve-got-your-back loyalty made AJ snap out of her stupor.

“Grandmother, I am test-marketing options for a football season tailgating menu that my company is going to offer.”

It was her company.

She hadn’t asked the woman for a penny of her millions to get Celebrations, Inc. off the ground. AJ had laid a careful plan, worked hard, scrimped and saved with the intention of gathering enough seed money to open her doors.

The opening had been put on a faster track after AJ’s fiancé died, naming her the beneficiary of his life insurance policy. But not until after the money sat in a savings account for a little over three years. At first, AJ couldn’t fathom spending a penny of it, paralyzed by the thought that Danny was gone and money was all she had left of him. It hadn’t seemed right. It hadn’t seemed fair that he’d had to die, and she was left here to try and go on without him.

For three years, AJ had lived in a daze, going through life’s motions—getting up, working long hours, coming home, sleeping only to get up and do it all over again. Sleep was the only place where she found peace... At night, when her head hit the pillow, she could lose herself in dreams where Danny was alive, her family accepted him and she was happy. As a result, during the waking hours, she shut down, living in her head. This didn’t escape her friends.

That’s when it had hit her. He would never have wanted her to sit idle. She needed to invest that money in making her career dreams come true—something Danny had been so supportive of.

After she’d done that, it was as if Danny were right there with her every step of the way.

So, even if she were “flipping burgers,” she’d rather be doing that, relying on herself and her own creativity to make or break her than living on her grandmother’s terms.

AJ knew it galled her grandmother that she was that solvent. Thanks to Danny, a man Grandmother had deemed beneath her namesake, AJ was free, and her grandmother didn’t have an ounce of control over her.

Her grandmother didn’t dignify the justification of AJ’s burger flipping with a comment. She just stood there with an expression so sour, AJ feared the old woman would suck on her cheeks hard enough to suck herself inside out.

As AJ stifled a smile, she realized she was still holding the bowl of homemade barbecue sauce she’d promised Shane. Why did he have to witness this ugly scene?

She turned away from her grandmother to set the bowl of sauce in front of Shane. As she did, the toe of her hot pink Dr. Martens caught on an exposed tree root. As if in slow motion, she lurched forward, splattering sauce down the front of Shane’s white polo shirt.

* * *

Shane knew the barbecue sauce mishap wasn’t intentional, and he tried to reassure AJ of that. He wouldn’t allow her to have his shirt cleaned, and she didn’t deserve her grandmother making an awkward moment worse by insisting that the Taste of Celebration committee would replace the shirt.

He declined both offers.

However, it soon became clear the woman—who he was tempted to call “the old battle-ax,” but refrained because she was AJ’s grandmother and that would be disrespectful—was a trying piece of work. But soon he realized Agnes Sherwood would not take no for an answer. He decided to give her his address just so she would shut up and go away.

At first he was going to give her the central address at Fort Hood. But then he decided he would give the woman a full-on dose of the working-class stiff he was. “I’m staying at the Celebration Suites, off of the highway. I don’t know the address off the top of my head, but it’s unit 201.”

Agnes sniffed and Shane swore he saw her bristle. “Are you referring to that place one rents by the week?”

Never before had he heard the word place said with such contempt. If he didn’t know better, he’d think he was renting a place in Celebration’s Red Light District—if there was such a place in Perfectville, U.S.A.

“Yes, ma’am that’s where I live. For the moment anyway. I’m sort of...transient.” He looked her square in the eyes and smiled.

He loved messing with people who carried a superiority complex. This woman wore hers like crown jewels. For a split second, he wondered how someone like AJ could be related to Agnes Sherwood. AJ was humble and sweet, someone who wasn’t too proud to serve burgers and onion rings—or to roll up her sleeves and get the work done. Agnes Sherwood, on the other hand, seemed the type who’d never gotten her hands dirty.

After all the things he’d seen in the Middle East and his years in the army, he couldn’t stand it when the idle rich put themselves above others. But it wasn’t his duty to reform her.

“Agnes Jane, write down his information. Apartment number, size and brand of the shirt. I will have something sent by midweek.”

With that, Queen Agnes turned and left.

They were dismissed.

* * *

AJ was thankful for the way Pepper and Sydney jumped in and distracted the customers who were kind enough to focus on the food and not the scene that had just unfolded. This left AJ free to do damage control with Shane.

“I am so sorry,” AJ said to Shane.

After being humiliated by her grandmother and dousing him in barbecue sauce, what else was there to say?

She wished she could blame her grandmother for unnerving her, but really, it was her own clumsy fault. She should have been more careful and watched what she was doing. Or as Grandmother would say, “her comportment had been lacking.” Again.

Shane was only a customer, after all. Not someone who should fluster her.

“Please don’t worry about it,” he said. “No harm. No foul. Now, if I’d been wearing my Dallas Mavericks jersey, that would’ve been another matter all together.”

“Lucky me. It’s not game day.”

“Yeah. Lucky you.”

She felt her hot skin blanch, until he grinned and winked at her. Then her cheeks went all hot again.

“The stain is drying to look like a bad tie-dye job,” she said.

He gazed down at the soiled area. “I haven’t worn a tie-dyed shirt since I was a teenager.”

“Well, there you go. Merry Christmas, a few months early. Here, let me get a pen and some paper and I’ll get your information for my grandmother.”

He tried to wave her off. “Let’s not. Please? Just tell her I left before you could get it.”

“Are you kidding me? You saw how my grandmother is. I’m not going to cross her again. So, wait right there.” Playfully, she pointed at him. “That’s an order.”

She grabbed a pen from her purse and picked up a napkin. She turned back to him, half expecting to see him walking away, but he was still there. He hadn’t left. He hadn’t stomped off in a furious huff—as if normal people actually stomped. Of course not. Only her grandmother did things like that. The fact remained that Shane was standing there, making light of her faux pas. At that moment, something inside of her shifted.

Besides being a very good-looking man, he seemed like a good man. If for no other reason than that, she wanted to get to know him better.

“Here,” she said, handing him the napkin and pen. “Write down your size, the brand of shirt you like—make it something expensive since Grandmother is paying. Also, write down your apartment number and your phone number. I am going to fix you dinner since I put you through all this trouble. I’ll call you and we can figure out what day this week would be good.”

He regarded her for a moment. Then he tore the napkin in half and handed a piece to her.

“I’ll need your number then. If I’m giving you my number, you have to give me yours. Call me old-fashioned, but I think the man should be the one to call and arrange the first date.”

“Date?” AJ sputtered. Did he think she was asking for his number to call and ask him out? She tried to think of a witty retort, something to put them back on level ground, but his words, “Call me old-fashioned,” resonated in her head.

“What? You don’t want to go out with me?” He frowned. “Are you rejecting me? Do you have a prejudice against men who smell like barbecue sauce?”

She loved the mischievous sparkle in his hazel eyes. Those eyes—with their green and brown and amber flecks—were almost hypnotizing.

“I don’t remember you asking me for a date. The last I remember is my offer to cook for you. What? You don’t like my cooking?”

Shane smiled and picked up one of the Tailgater sliders. He took a bite and chewed. AJ couldn’t help herself, her gaze dropped to his lips and for a moment, she lost herself, wondering if they tasted as good as they looked.

But then he swallowed the bite, and her gaze skittered back up to meet his. Their eyes locked.

“If today is any indication of your talents, I’m fairly certain I’ll fall in love with your cooking. But why don’t we start with a first date?”

Chapter Four

Shane couldn’t remember the last time he’d asked a woman out on a date. Sure, he’d enjoyed his fair share of feminine company over the years, but as far as asking someone out... It had been a long time since the traditionalist he’d claimed to be had surfaced as it had today.

The folded half napkin she’d written her number on was in his front right pocket. After he unlocked his truck and slid behind the wheel he reached in his pocket and took it out again.

The leather seats were warm, the heat penetrating through the legs of his jeans. Still, he sat there for a moment gazing at the black ink on the napkin, the numbers that would connect him to AJ.

But before that could happen, he had to get home and get the smell of barbecue sauce off him before it became his permanent scent.

He tucked away her phone number in the car’s console, turned the ignition key and the engine purred to life.

As the light turned green at the corner, he noticed that the hoodlums who were hanging out earlier were gone. However, right before Shane accelerated to get through the intersection, the same dog he’d seen loping through traffic as he walked to the square darted in front of his car.

He slammed on the brakes just in time, narrowly missing the mutt.

Did that family have a death wish for their dog? Surely, they didn’t. Maybe the animal was the crafty sort that got out despite their efforts to contain him, a regular Houdini.

Or maybe he was just an animal with wanderlust who hated to be confined. He could relate to that.

Shane pulled over and got out. He couldn’t just let the dog wander. No, the least he could do was see the dog home safely. Maybe the boys hadn’t closed the back gate or had inadvertently let him out as they started a new game of ball. Whatever the case, Shane decided, he would hand the dog over to an adult who would look after the creature.

By the time Shane got to the sidewalk, the dog was trotting along about thirty yards ahead. Shane whistled and to his surprise, the mutt turned and sprinted back to him.

The smelly animal jumped up on Shane’s legs, licking at the stain on the front of his shirt.

“Down, boy! Sit.” Shane put up a knee to discourage the jumping. Surprisingly, the dog obeyed and lowered himself to his haunches, calmly panting and looking up at Shane.

“We need to get you home before you get hurt.” He tested the dog’s demeanor by holding out his closed hand, which the dog sniffed and then licked. Shane gave him a few strokes, and then took a hold of the mutt’s collar, which, he noticed, had no tags. The good-natured animal trotted alongside Shane the entire two blocks to the house where he’d seen the boys shooting hoops. They weren’t in the driveway anymore. So Shane guided the dog up the bricked path onto the porch where he rang the doorbell.

A man who looked to be in his forties opened the door.

“Excuse me, but your dog has gotten out again,” Shane said. “I almost hit him. I don’t want him to get hurt.”

The man looked confused and shook his head. “That’s not my dog. We don’t have any pets. Wife’s allergic.”

Shane looked from the man to the dog then back again to the man. “But I saw your boys playing with him out in the driveway earlier this afternoon.”

“Must be a stray,” the man answered.

“Dad, who is it?” called a young voice. Seconds later, the smaller of the two boys he’d seen earlier with the dog poked his head around the doorjamb and looked at him. The boy reached out and petted the animal. The dog whined and panted appreciatively.

“Greg, don’t touch that animal.”

“Aww, but he’s a nice dog, Dad.”

“Yeah, I hear you and your brother were playing with him this afternoon. What have I told you about touching strays? They could have rabies. Now, go wash your hands.”

The boy mumbled something under his breath that Shane couldn’t hear, then disappeared from the doorway, leaving Shane and the dad face-to-face.

“If he’s not yours, do you know who he belongs to?” Shane asked. “I hate to see him running loose out there. That won’t do anyone any good.”

“That’s for sure. But sorry, I’ve never seen the mutt before. Maybe you can take him to animal control.”

“I’d hate to have to do that. You know what happens to animals there.”

“Wish I could help you, but...” The man shrugged again, then shut the door, leaving Shane and the dog on the porch.

“Now what are we going to do?” Shane asked the dog.

He let go of the collar to adjust his grip and was surprised when the dog didn’t sprint away. Instead, the animal sat down next to him, leaning his weight possessively against Shane’s leg and staring up at him with soulful brown eyes.

Since the sun would set in a couple of hours and Shane was coming up short on leads as to who the dog belonged to, there seemed to be only one option.

“You want to come home with me tonight?”

* * *

AJ didn’t expect Shane to call. Not that she was a pessimist, but since he’d been so adamant about taking her number and being the one who called for the date, she suspected it might have been his way of letting her down easy.

She all but snorted to herself. He was the one who’d called it a date. She’d simply offered to make dinner for him as compensation for the misery she and her grandmother had put him through.

She suspected he hadn’t known what he was getting himself into when he’d told Maya he would deliver the chocolates.

That’s why, as she dried the last of the equipment she’d used at the festival, she was more than surprised when her phone rang just after six-thirty, and it was Shane asking about...dog shampoo?

“A stray picked me up on the way home from the food festival,” he said. “It must have been because I smelled like barbecue.”

He laughed and she was glad to know he really did have a good sense of humor. So many guys would have gotten bent out of shape over being splattered with sauce—especially since he hadn’t really gotten to take in much of the festival before it happened.

It occurred to AJ, when applying her qualities-a-man-must-possess list to Shane, she could check off two more items: someone who didn’t take himself too seriously, and someone who was compassionate but masculine. He had to be compassionate if he picked up a stray dog. And masculine...well, all it took was one look at Shane Harrison and his masculinity was as apparent as red paint on a fire hydrant.

She paused, drying her wet hands on a dish towel, waiting for a feeling of absurdity to engulf her. But it didn’t. Maybe it was because he was the one who had brought up the possibility of having a date—and he had actually followed through on calling. In the same night, no less—even if it was to ask about dog shampoo. Actually, because of this, she didn’t feel quite as ridiculous dusting off the list and checking off items.

“Any idea if it’s safe to use people shampoo on a dog?” Shane asked. Judging by the noises coming from his end of the line, it sounded as if he were on a headset, like he was calling her as he drove.

Teetering on the edge of uncertainty—and it wasn’t just the shampoo question that made her hesitate—she smiled at the sound of his voice.

“I’m not sure, but I can look it up on my smartphone. Hold on a second.”

For the first time in a long time she, she was attracted to someone. It had been such a long time—since Danny had been killed. And it felt good for the butterflies to be back.

She waited for the old, familiar guilt to wash over her. Guilt that Danny was dead and she was here, lusting after another man.

No. Stop it.

It had been nearly five years since her fiancé had been killed in the line of duty.

He went to work one day and didn’t come home. He was gone. Just like that.

“I guess I could have done the same thing,” he said. “So if you’re in the middle of something, don’t worry about it.”

AJ shook away the thought, refusing to let the unchangeable past stand in the way of possibility. Danny would want her to start living again. Thirty-three was too young to put herself on a shelf.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she said. “I’ve been home for about an hour. I was just thinking about fixing myself some dinner. So let me look it up. You definitely shouldn’t web surf and drive.”

“I wouldn’t web surf and drive,” he said. “I’d pull over if I were going to do that.”

“At the rate you’re going, it’ll be midnight before you get home. Hold on, it’ll only take me a few seconds to search. But I’ll have the phone away from my ear while I’m investigating.”

“Okay, thanks,” he said. “I appreciate your help.”

She found a legitimate-looking article written by a veterinarian. “Nope. It says here that the pH of dog shampoo is two points different than people shampoo. Supposedly, that’s a huge difference. It says here, using products made for people can dry out a dog’s skin and cause all sorts of problems.”

“Well, that’s not what I wanted to hear. I guess that means I’ll have to stop by the store before I get back to the apartment. He’s so flea-infested, I may have to set off a bug bomb in my car. I don’t want to bring him in the house without bathing him first.”

“No bug bombs,” said AJ. “Use borax. I don’t want you to asphyxiate yourself. Do you have access to an outside hose at the apartment?”

“It’s a rent-by-the-week joint. There’s not even a pool I could throw him in, much less a spigot and hose for the renters’ convenience.”

“Bring him over to my house.” AJ’s stomach lurched at the boldness of her suggestion. But she would get to see him again. “We can wash him outside. And don’t worry. This is not a date. I’m just trying to save you from flea infestation.”

He made a sound that echoed with refusal. “I can’t bring this dirty animal and all his bugs over to you. You’ll never forgive me if you get an infestation.”

“Borax. I’m telling you, it’s good stuff. Bring him over. You can wash him in the driveway and let him dry on the back porch. He won’t even have to come in the house.”

* * *

By the time Shane stopped to pick up flea shampoo, dog food and a leash, it was after seven-thirty when he pulled into AJ’s driveway. Her house was a modest bungalow, perched atop a small hill about five miles from downtown. From the curb, the white clapboard structure with forest-green shutters looked typical for Celebration, but he had a feeling the place AJ called home would be far from typical.

He walked around to the passenger side of his car, opened the door and hooked the new leash to the dog’s collar. As free-spirited as the animal had seemed wandering downtown footloose and fancy-free, he was remarkably tame, sitting on the jacket Shane had spread over the front seat to protect the leather seat from the dog’s overgrown toenails. He’d have to dry-clean his jacket before he could wear it again because it probably reeked of dirty dog—the same way his car smelled right now.

As he gave the mutt a few strokes, it struck him that except for being filthy and hungry, the mutt was in relatively good shape. Plus, he was wearing a collar—even if it was missing its tags. Shane frowned. Somewhere out there a family was missing a dog. Either that or the animal had been dumped.

“Do you belong to someone, buddy?”

The dog whined in response, looking up at Shane with adoring chocolate eyes.

“Come on, let’s get you cleaned up.”

They rang the doorbell and AJ answered a moment later, stepping outside.

“Hey,” she said. She’d changed out of her chef’s coat and was wearing a red T-shirt that hugged her curves in all the right places and jean shorts that made the most of her tanned legs.

“Hi.” She looked way too good for washing a dog. Though he didn’t really expect her to roll up her sleeves and dive in. “Thanks for letting us come over.”

Her gaze dropped to the area of his stomach. Suddenly, he realized he was still wearing the same stained shirt from earlier that day. In all the commotion with the dog, he’d forgotten. He should’ve gone home and changed. For that matter, he should’ve gone home and showered and shaved, too. Maybe bringing the dog over here wasn’t such a great idea after all. He could’ve just whisked him into the apartment shower and taken his chances.

But a little voice inside of him reminded him that the reason he was here was because he wanted to see her again. Not very good planning, but here he was. Here they were.

“Nice shirt,” she said, kneeling down in front of the dog and stroking his ears.

“Yeah, this is the best dog-washing outfit I own.”

She laughed. It sounded genuine and that made him feel better.

“What’s his name?” AJ asked.

“Name? He doesn’t have one. He’s a stray.”

“Oh, you poor boy,” AJ cooed to the mutt. “He needs a name. You can’t just keep calling him ‘dog.’”

Uh-oh. Shane leaned against the porch rail. “You name a dog, you get attached. I can’t get attached right now.”

“You have something against getting attached?” Her tone was light, but her frown made him think his answer was important to her.

Weighing his words, Shane looked at her for a moment—noticing her gorgeous blue eyes and sleek blond hair. “Animals. I don’t get attached to animals. I can’t keep this dog. My assignment here ends in six weeks. Then I’m heading to Europe. I can’t take a dog with me.”

Weighty silence settled around them. Then the buzz of the cicadas sliced through the stillness, making the stagnant, humid air feel like it was vibrating. Through it all she just kept looking at him, as if what he’d said didn’t make sense.

So, he tried to explain. “Taking on a dog is a huge responsibility. I can’t keep him. I just...can’t.”

AJ stood up. “I get it.” She dusted off her hands and looked him square in the eyes. “They’re a commitment. Come on, let’s go in the backyard and wash him.”

She took the dog’s leash and led the way to a gate in the white picket fence that surrounded her backyard. Walking behind her, Shane tried not to watch the way her hips swayed. Or notice how nicely her butt filled out the shorts—another treasure that was hidden by the shapeless chef’s coat. He also fought the urge to explain himself, but he lost.

“When I leave there’s no way I can take him with me.”

Smooth. Real smooth.

He should’ve kept his mouth shut, the way she did when they passed through the gate into the backyard. She simply pointed toward the garden hose, which was neatly coiled around a caddy attached to the house. Shane walked over and began unraveling it.

As he worked, he felt her watching him. “So, you’re telling me that because you travel so much you never get attached? To anyone or anything? You just float from port to port?”

“No, I don’t float, and I don’t have ports. That’s the navy. The army has bases. But no—I mean yes. I mean it’s not that I consciously decide not to get attached. It’s just difficult because I’m so...”

“Transient?” She looked horrified.

He snorted, unsure of whether to laugh off her comment or take her seriously. But the fact that he could see virtual walls that had gone up around her made him believe there was a hint of truth to her question.

He had to admit she’d struck a nerve in him, too. He didn’t run from commitment, as she seemed to imply. Basically, he was married to the army and it wasn’t fair to anyone or anything, as the case may be, to form other attachments. Especially in a place like Celebration, where he’d only be spending six weeks.

It was best to change the subject.

“Do you have a dog?” he asked.

AJ shook her head.

“You could take him. Hey! That would work. You could name him and keep him and take care of him.”

AJ shot daggers at him with those blue eyes. She held up her hands. “I work too much to take on the responsibility of a dog.”

He turned on the hose. “So, you work too much to make a commitment. Because a dog is a commitment, right? You said so yourself.”

He winked at her, trying to lighten the mood.

She made a clucking noise. “Okay. Point taken.”

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