Not even a “please.” She didn’t hit him, but that was because Nathan intervened, explained that Emma was one of their top marketing executives and thus did not act as a waitress. The man never so much as looked at her throughout the meeting. But then he signed a contract for more money than anyone had expected. Guilt, probably. That worked. After she’d engineered the launch of his metal-roofing company with more media coverage than he’d expected for such a specialized top-of-the-line niche product, he became a friend. Who would work with him now that she no longer worked for Nathan?
She glanced over at Seth and Sonny. They weren’t cutting her out. They’d simply forgotten she was there. She left them to it.
By the time they’d worked out everything that would be needed for the so-called kennel, she had accumulated a wicker basket full of little cans of cat food, a bag of dry food and several small cat toys.
Sonny said, “Thought it was a big dog.”
“We’ve seen a couple of feral cats around,” Seth said. “If they have kittens, Emma may domesticate a few to keep down the mice.”
Saved again. She looked at the length of the invoice Sonny held and groaned. She might have to borrow money from her father, after all, if she didn’t get a job soon. When she reached for her credit card, however, Sonny waved her away.
“Don’t you know the old saying about farmers, hon? A farmer’s solvent one day a year.” He grinned up at Seth. “Tell her.”
Seth shrugged. “From the afternoon of the day he sells his crop until the next morning when he buys his seed.”
“The rest of the time, everybody keeps paying on their accounts,” Sonny said. “You gonna move up here, you got to do like everybody else.”
“Don’t I have to fill out some paperwork? Give you a credit card?”
“Shoot, I know where to find you if I need to. And Seth can track you down, can’t you?” He flashed that smile at Seth. “Not that you’ll be considered a native, except through Miss Martha. Have to live here a minimum of three generations for that. Now, since Seth has to go to work, and you don’t have a pickup, my boys’ll be up late this afternoon to deliver your stuff.”
“But where?”
“Sonny and I worked it out,” Seth told her.
“Got the perfect place up under that big water oak. Plenty of shade, good drainage, close to the house. Sonny, you can put the tools and concrete bags on the front porch.”
“Shouldn’t they be locked up?” Tools? Emma thought. Shades of enormous hammers and four-inch nails! And concrete? What were they building, the Brooklyn Bridge?
“Nobody’ll bother ’em,” Sonny said. “Now, Seth, when you gonna bring your riding lawn mower and your four-wheeler down for a checkup? You already need to be mowing that little place you got.”
Emma waved at them and started out of the store.
“Hey, sweet thing, wait up!” Sonny said. “We’re right glad you moved in. Don’t you worry. Anything you need, we’ll fix you up.”
“I’ll come by after work,” Seth said to her retreating back.
She climbed into her SUV. It was nearly nine o’clock. She’d had one cup of coffee, and she was absolutely starving. Two hours to go before she had to feed the skunks. Must be someplace around here she could get some breakfast. Someplace where she could be a stranger and not the absolute most worthless out-of-her-element female in this universe. She considered she had a fairly good skill set. For the city. Out here she didn’t understand the language, much less the customs.
It definitely was another universe. Oh, the endearments were the same as in town. She never minded being called “sugar” or “honey” or “sweet thing.” There was a wide gap between sexual harassment like the casual hand on her rear end—which she recognized instantly and took care of even faster—and the complimentary appellations from good ol’ boys of a certain age.
But it was all too obvious that she didn’t belong here. Sonny was right. She’d be a stranger for the next three generations, if it was possible to live that long.
She could make an attempt to slide into the culture, but it would never work. She knew where she belonged, and it wasn’t in Williamston. And definitely not across the street from Seth Logan.
* * *
“WHOO-EE!” SONNY SAID. He hooked his thumbs into his tarpaulin-size overalls and grinned at Seth. “Yum, yum! She lives right across the street from you?”
“Put your eyes back in your head, Mr. Mayor, before I blacken both of them for you.”
“Now, Seth, I didn’t mean a thing by it. I’m a happily married man. Besides, Nadine would tear my head off at the shoulders if I so much as looked at another woman. And no way would I give up Nadine’s beaten biscuits for a roll in the hay with somebody else. But you—” he pointed at Seth “—are no longer a married man and that—” he pointed to Emma’s SUV as it pulled out of the parking lot “—is therefore fair game.”
Seth didn’t feel like discussing Emma as though she were a side of beef with a man who looked as though he could eat one at a single sitting. “She’s in a committed relationship.” He very nearly bit his tongue. Committed relationship? Not if Emma stuck to her guns after that phone call last night, not to mention her response to that wholly inappropriate kiss he’d planted on her.
Still, she’d been clear that living in Aunt Martha’s house was a stopgap measure for a woman who was intended for mansions and French wine. All he knew about French wine was that he couldn’t afford it. Mansions? Out of the question.
“I’m late for work,” he said. “Thanks, Sonny.”
“No thanks needed.” Sonny clapped Seth on the shoulder hard enough to make him stumble. “You get that kennel up, and then you pay some attention to that young lady.”
Seth decided to stop by the café and pick up a couple of egg sandwiches and a large coffee. When he was close to the turn for the parking lot, however, he saw Emma’s SUV already there with no one in it. Darn! If he went inside now, she really would think he was stalking her. He drove by and stopped at the drive-in. The food wasn’t half as good as at the café, but the coffee was hot and the sausage biscuits sufficiently greasy. He should’ve felt good about this morning. Instead, he felt as though he was in way over his head, and not just with the construction.
* * *
THE MINUTE EMMA walked into the café, conversation stopped and every eye swiveled to stare at her. Oh, great. Apparently a stranger was sufficiently rare to count as a treat. She put on her coolest expression, noted the sign at the cash register that said, “Y’all seat yourself,” looked around and spotted Barbara, the vet, waving at her. She pasted on a smile and walked over.
“Join me, please,” Barbara said.
Emma couldn’t very well refuse. Besides, not only did she like Barbara, but the vet was a conduit to Seth Logan. Emma needed somebody to clue her in on the man. She couldn’t figure him out at all. He obviously had the education and the cultural skills to move up whatever career ladder he chose. Yet here he was, catching poachers and checking fishing licenses—or she supposed that was what he did. He didn’t seem to be lazy, not if he planned to help her build the kennel.
“The café’s about the only decent restaurant in Williamston,” Barbara said.
The waitress laid a menu on the table and, without asking, set down a mug of coffee. “You want cream?” It came out like an accusation.
Emma shook her head. “No, thanks. Just a couple of poached eggs, bacon and wheat toast, please.”
“Huh. We don’t do much egg poaching. Hard or soft?”
“Uh,