* * *
HE HAD LOST his mind.
In two days this woman had put him in the position of breaking rules he was pledged to adhere to. Not just adhere to, but enforce.
And grabbing her up and kissing her like that? She’d be well within her rights to call the police and have him arrested for assault by an authority figure.
Not that she’d left him much authority. She hadn’t asked him to help her build an outdoor run for the skunks. He’d come up with the idea himself. Now he was committed to a fairly complicated project, one she’d already told him she either couldn’t or wouldn’t participate in.
She’d intimated that she’d sworn off the entire sex for the foreseeable future. As if he had all the time in the world outside his job to play nursemaid to skunks. Why hadn’t she adopted a couple of baby squirrels? Or even a raccoon? He could justify helping her in that case.
Tomorrow morning, he had to meet her as though they’d never shared that blockbuster of a kiss. Casual. Professional. Acquaintances. Neighbors. Nothing more.
He could handle that.
In his dreams.
Then again, what was the use? How long before her fancy, rich lawyer fiancé showed up in a brand-new Mercedes, gave her a big diamond and swept her off to marry him? From her phone conversation with The Jerk—he thought of him in capital letters—the guy was having an affair with a married woman while he was engaged to Emma. Talk about nuts! But with his fortune and social position... No woman would choose Seth Logan over him. If, as Emma said, he was aiming to go into politics at some point, she’d make a smashing senator’s wife. Or governor’s, for that matter.
Seth had enough experience with domestic disputes to know that in almost every case infidelity was not a deal breaker. All too often, women kept going back to the guy who gave them a broken jaw or a broken heart. His mother had gone back to his alcoholic father again and again, offered him support and forgiveness and her belief that he would stay sober. She’d written him off and divorced him only after Sarah was drowned. She couldn’t go on living with Everett, her husband, knowing it was his fault Sarah had died.
She barely took her eyes off Seth in the months following Sarah’s drowning. She knew how deeply he blamed his father. Watching him was as much for Seth’s benefit as her own. She’d continued to look at Seth even when he couldn’t bear to look at himself. She was afraid of what he’d do if his father showed up drunk and maudlin, making excuses, casting blame...
She’d been right to worry. At fourteen Seth was taller, broader and stronger than his father. Besides, his liver was healthy. He doubted dear old Dad’s was. He’d had to avoid the bastard so he wouldn’t put him in the hospital. Or the morgue.
The only thing that saved Everett Logan from his son’s wrath was that Seth hated himself more than he did his father. If he hadn’t been able to hide out in the woods for days at a time, he might well have followed Sarah into the lake.
He couldn’t do that to his mother. So he’d nursed his anger and avoided his father. He could thank his father for forcing him to love the outdoors, not that the old man had intended to point him to his career path. Seth only knew he could breathe in the woods.
Poor Earl. He knew about Seth’s family and how close to the surface Seth’s temper ran when faced with dangerous jackasses like that party boat group. When Seth realized those people on the boat weren’t wearing life jackets, it was touch and go whether he could keep his temper or whether he’d tie the idiot captain to his anchor and toss him overboard.
Thank God he’d had Earl there to help him maintain control. He thought he’d managed to stay calm, but that big woman who’d caught his expression had looked scared.
Maybe the alternative was to force the entire party to stare at pictures of bodies pulled from that lake, the quiet little lake that could kick up whitecaps in a strong wind and upend half the boats in the water.
As he climbed into bed, he was sure he’d lie awake thinking about Emma with The Jerk. In reality he spent the night dreaming of her instead.
And dreaming of inventive ways to barbecue that Trip guy. Slowly.
“I WASN’T SURE you’d show up.” Seth opened the driver’s door of Emma’s SUV, then stood back. Sweet of him not to loom over her.
“I said I would.”
“Ever been to the co-op?” he asked. “It’s the farmer’s answer to the big-box hardware stores. Little bit of everything from two-by-fours to horse feed.”
She shook her head.
“Hey, Seth,” a voice from the shadowy depths of the store said. “And who’s this pretty lady?” The man who came to meet them wasn’t quite as tall as Seth but outweighed him by a factor of two or possibly three. Somewhere under the thick layers of fat could be glimpsed layers of muscle. He wore actual bib overalls that stuck out in front.
“Hey, hon.” He engulfed her hand in a rough sunburned paw as gently as though he was holding a butterfly. “Seth giving you the grand tour of our fair city?”
His grin was broad, gleaming, but with something of a mountain lion behind it. A man who could handle himself, Emma thought, and probably Seth, as well.
“Shoot, you’re the biggest tourist attraction we got,” Seth said. “Emma French, meet the mayor of Williamston, Sonny Prather. Sonny, this is Emma French. She’s Miss Martha’s niece. She just moved in across the street from me.”
“And you figured you’d introduce her to old Sonny. ’Cause you gonna need to buy out the store to get that place all fixed up after the last people. Friendly enough folks, but didn’t do much to take care of the place that I could see.”
“I’m afraid I can’t afford to buy more than a tiny piece of all this,” Emma said and waved a hand at the shelves around her.
“Sure you can. We gonna open an account for you like everybody else in the county. That way, you can send your contractor in to buy whatever you need.”
“As for the contractor, you’re looking at him,” Seth said. “This morning, all we need is stuff to build an outdoor run. Emma here is thinking about bringing her dog up from Memphis to stay. He’s a city dog.”
Emma gaped at Seth. She now knew that he could lie like a rug. Good information for the future. She had to admit, however, that he’d sounded plausible. And not a word about skunks either.
“Lord, yes. Miss Emma, you got to have a kennel for a city dog around here ’less you want him running off after the coyotes or getting hisself snakebit.” He turned to Seth. “You know what you want, or you want me to work it out for you? Is it a large dog?” he asked Emma.
“Uh...”
Seth stepped in. “Large enough. Long as we’re building, might as well do a decent job of it.”
“You got you a new dog yet, Seth?” Sonny asked over his shoulder as he walked off down the store and through a wide doorway at the back. “Know you miss Rambler. He was a good ol’ dog.”
A fine epitaph, Emma thought. Interesting that Sonny knew the particulars about Seth’s dog. But then he probably knew the names of the dogs and horses owned by all his customers. Maybe sheep and goats, too. Certainly bulls. Possibly even cats, although she doubted it. Men tended to ignore felines, but from where she stood, she could see a pair of yellow tabbies curled up in a ray of sunshine beside the front door. No doubt if she mentioned them, Sonny would blush and tell her they were good ratters.
“Barbara’s looking out for a rescue for me,”