LITMIR.BIZ

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      “I don’t understand. Can’t boots be black?”

      “But these are supposed to be brown!”

      She was at a loss. She’d thought the boots looked much better after her polish job.

      Just then, Jonathan hobbled into the kitchen. He wore the same pair of jeans as yesterday, one leg split up the center seam to accommodate his cast, but he’d also put on a starched dress shirt. He’d shaved and combed his wavy brown hair.

      Her breathing came in shallow gasps.

      “Problem?” he asked.

      Sam and Kristin came running up to him, still dirty, still not dressed in the proper clothes. “Dad, Dad, Sherry yelled at us.”

      Jonathan spared a flickering gaze toward Sherry.

      “They threw a frog at me,” she said in her own defense. “And they weren’t obeying me very well. I’m sorry I lost my temper, but I didn’t want them to make Pete late for his own wedding.” While she made this speech, she pulled a chair out for Jonathan to sit at the kitchen table. Though he’d said nothing, she could tell by the tension in his face that it hurt him to stand.

      Jonathan sat down, then looked at his children. “Go wash up. And put on your church clothes,” he said so quietly she almost didn’t hear him.

      They scrambled to do his bidding.

      “See? No need to yell.”

      Right. She’d told the children exactly the same thing, but they hadn’t listened to her. Were people like Jonathan born with a natural authority that children responded to? And had she been born without it? Or did it have something to do with her lack of parenting role models in her formative years?

      If she ever wanted to have children of her own, she’d better figure that out.

      Pete picked up his boots and, grumbling all the way, left the kitchen.

      Jonathan watched him go, seeming faintly amused. Then he turned his gaze on Sherry. “Well, seems you’re winning friends and influencing people this morning. If you can manage to burn my breakfast, you’ll be four for four.”

      JONATHAN ACTUALLY FELT a bit sorry for Sherry as he watched her bustle around the kitchen, frying his eggs and toasting an English muffin. She was trying, he’d give her that. She might be a skilled nurse, but she obviously wasn’t going to fit in here. He should have listened to Jeff.

      He’d wait until after the wedding reception, he decided, then he would let her go.

      With that decision made, Jonathan felt much more mellow. He went easier on Sherry, thanking her for breakfast and telling her it was good, even though she’d made his eggs too runny and the muffin too dark. No need to correct her. This was the last breakfast she would cook for him.

      Pete and the kids got off to the wedding without further incident. Sherry stood at the front door and waved to them. “Bye, good luck, Pete.” Then the real fun began. Sally’s two best friends, Gussie and Reenie, arrived with flowers and garlands, a wedding cake in the shape of a cowboy hat and enough food to feed a third-world country.

      Sherry was obviously in her element. Gussie and Reenie, who thought of themselves as Cottonwood’s social directors, were a little suspicious of her at first. From the recliner in the living room, where he pretended to read, Jonathan could see the two septuagenarians whispering to each other whenever Sherry stepped out of the room and shaking their heads disapprovingly.

      But Sherry worked tirelessly, ironing a small wrinkle out of a tablecloth, rifling through cabinet after cabinet to find a punchbowl, quickly polishing a silver candelabra, pinching a brown leaf off a flower arrangement. She did whatever the two older women requested of her with a smile, complimented Gussie’s horrific hat and even asked for Reenie’s crab salad recipe.

      Pretty soon the three women worked as a team, chattering and laughing as if they’d known each other for years.

      Sherry did have a way about her, Jonathan conceded. She could drive him crazy in thirty seconds, but anyone could see she meant well. She didn’t seem to have a malicious bone in her body.

      Her very sexy body.

      The way she was dressed, Jonathan couldn’t help but notice her physical assets. She’d changed out of her earlier outfit and into a white, ruffly blouse that showed two inches of cleavage, paired with a red miniskirt and a wide black belt that made her waist look minuscule. Her legs were encased in black stockings, her feet in black spike heels with red polka-dots. She even had a red polka-dot bow in her hair, which cascaded around her shoulders and down her back in a waterfall of blond curls.

      Her lips and fingernails, of course, were bright red, too.

      When Sherry leaned down to pick up a runaway olive, she very nearly showed him her panties. Were they color-coordinated, too? Determinedly he buried his face in his book. It was useless to entertain fantasies about Sherry. Even if she wasn’t going to be out of his life soon, she wasn’t the type of woman he wanted to involve himself with. If he’d learned one thing from his marriage, it was that what turned him on wasn’t what he needed to be happy.

      Did that mean there was a type he would become involved with?

      Good question. After his divorce from Rita, he swore he was done with women for good. But he supposed that was a pretty normal reaction. He didn’t hate women. His brothers had managed to catch a couple of good ones. In fact, he’d been on a date not too long ago with Allison. He’d done it strictly to make Jeff jealous, but he’d found her company more pleasurable than he’d expected and that night he realized he missed female companionship.

      But if he were to start dating again, he wouldn’t date someone like Sherry. He would look for a country girl with simple tastes, one who understood and loved ranch life. Judging from the few comments she’d made, Sherry didn’t know a steer from a bull. He would look for a woman who was good with children. Hard as she tried, Jonathan suspected Sherry had zero maternal instincts. His children were usually pretty easy to get along with, yet she’d managed to upset them somehow.

      He would look for a woman who wasn’t ashamed to buy clothes at Wal-Mart, one who didn’t agonize over breaking a fingernail, one who didn’t crave champagne and five-star dining experiences on a daily basis. The casual comment Sherry had made about credit card bills was a red flag. She was probably a shopaholic, like Rita.

      Not that he minded an occasional shopping trip in Dallas or a special dinner out at a fancy steak-house. He wasn’t cheap, and before his marriage he’d actually enjoyed treating a woman to special things now and then.

      But Rita had wanted those treats in her life every day. She’d thought nothing of spending two hundred dollars on a pair of pants and then never wearing them. It wasn’t that he couldn’t afford her, the ranch made good money, but their priorities simply hadn’t meshed.

      When she’d suggested they hire a full-time nanny for the children, Jonathan had flatly refused. There was no practical need for professional child care. Rita didn’t work outside the home and Pete would watch the kids virtually any time Rita asked. But all of her Dallas and New Orleans friends had nannies, so she wanted to keep up.

      She’d left him soon after that argument.

      Jonathan sneaked another look at Sherry. High maintenance, that one. Don’t even think about it.

      Then, there wasn’t time to think about anything because the wedding guests started to arrive—hundreds of them, or so it seemed. Each and every one of them had to pay his respects to Jonathan and ask all about the accident. He repeated the story so many times it became rote. Then people kept bringing him plates of food, precious little stuffed mushrooms, tiny quiches and pimento-cheese minisandwiches. He would have preferred some real food, like a roast beef sandwich. But his hired nurse was too busy playing hostess to see to his needs.

      “You look like you swallowed an olive pit.” This comment came from Jonathan’s father. Edward perched

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