LITMIR.BIZ

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Mr. Cameron,” Harley said at once.

      Jared Cameron gave them both a speaking glance and turned his attention back to the line, which was rapidly moving inside. When he was out of earshot, Sara muttered, “He ran into us. You didn’t have to apologize.”

      He chuckled. “It isn’t the place for a skirmish, you know,” he teased.

      She grimaced. “Sorry, Harley. I don’t like him, that’s all. He’s too full of himself.”

      “He’s just bought that huge ranch,” he reminded her. “He must live on a higher level than most of us. I guess he thinks he’s above normal courtesies.”

      She only nodded. She hadn’t liked the antagonism in the tall man’s eyes when he’d looked at Harley.

      They got their tickets and found seats as far away from Jared Cameron as Sara could possibly manage. Then she lost herself in the beautiful musical landscapes created by the themes of Claude Debussy. Harley seemed to enjoy the concert as much as she did. It was nice to have something in common.

      On the way out, they noticed Jared Cameron speaking earnestly with Police Chief Cash Grier, who’d shown up just after the concert began and stood at the back of the room. Sara wondered what they were talking about. But it was none of her business.

      It was ten o’clock when Harley dropped her off at her home. She smiled up at him. “Thanks, Harley. I had a really nice time.”

      “So did I. Want to go to a movie next Friday?”

      Her heart jumped pleasantly. He liked her! She beamed. “Yes. I would.”

      He chuckled. “That’s great!”

      He hesitated. So did she. Her experience of men was extremely limited. Her upbringing had been strict and unrelenting on the issue of morals. Her past wasn’t widely known around Jacobsville, but her reputation was rock-solid. It was why she hadn’t dated much. Harley knew that. But it didn’t seem to bother him overmuch. After a minute’s deliberation, he bent and brushed his mouth briefly, softly over hers. “Good night, Sara.”

      She smiled. “Good night, Harley.”

      He jumped back into the truck, waved and took off down the driveway,

      She watched the truck disappear into the distance, frowning as she considered that brief kiss. It hadn’t touched her. She liked Harley. She’d have loved having a steady boyfriend, just for the novelty of the thing. But she hadn’t felt anything when he kissed her. Maybe you just had to work up to those feelings, she told herself as she unlocked her door and went inside. It was early days in their relationship. They had plenty of time to experiment.

      * * *

      It was the week after the concert before her nemesis placed another order. This time he did it on the telephone, and to Dee, who got to the telephone first early Monday morning.

      “What a selection,” Dee exclaimed when she hung up. She read down the list, shaking her head. “Greek and Roman writers of the classics, some science fiction, two books on drug interdiction and two on South American politics. Oh, and one on independent contractors. Mercenaries.”

      “Maybe he’s thinking of starting a war,” Sara offered. “In some other country, of course.” She pursed her lips and her eyes twinkled. “Maybe he’s anxious to skip town because he’s so fascinated by me!”

      Dee looked at her over her glasses. “Excuse me?”

      “It’s just a theory I’m working on,” she said facetiously. “I mean, I’m growing into a femme fatale. Harley Fowler can’t resist me. What if my fatal charm has worked its magic on Mr. Cameron and he’s running scared? He might feel a need to escape before he gets addicted to me!”

      “Sara, do you feel all right?”

      Sara just grinned. “I never felt better.”

      “If you say so. I’ll get these ordered.” She glanced at Sara. “He wants you to take them out to him on Saturday.”

      Sara grimaced. “He just likes ruining my weekends.”

      “He hardly knows you, dear. I’m sure it’s not that.”

      Sara didn’t answer her.

      On Thursday, Harley phoned with bad news. “I have to fly to Denver on business for the boss, and I’ll be gone a week or more,” he said miserably. “So we can’t go to the movies on Friday.”

      “That’s all right, Harley,” she assured him. “There will be a movie left when you get back that we can go see. Honest.”

      He laughed. “You make everything so easy, Sara.”

      “You have a safe trip.”

      “I’ll do my best. Take care.”

      “You, too.”

      She hung up and wondered idly why Harley had to go out of town just before they went on another date. It was as if fate was working against her. She’d looked forward to it, too. Now all she had to anticipate was delivering books to the ogre. It wasn’t a happy thought. Not at all.

      Well, she told herself, it could always be worse. She could be dating HIM—the ogre.

      Three

      Sara took the ogre’s books home with her on Friday, just as she had the last time, so that she didn’t have to go to town. At least it wasn’t pouring rain when she went out to her car early Saturday morning to make the drive to the White Horse Ranch.

      This time, he was waiting for her on the porch. He was leaning against one of the posts with his hands in his jean pockets. Like last time, he was wearing working garb. Same disreputable boots and hat, same unpleasant expression. Sara tried not to notice what an incredible physique he had, or how handsome he was. It wouldn’t do to let him know how attractive she found him.

      He looked pointedly at his watch as she came up the steps. “Five minutes late,” he remarked.

      Her eyebrows arched. “I am not,” she shot back. “My watch says ten, exactly.”

      “My watch is better than yours,” he countered.

      “I guess so, if you judge it by the amount of gold on the band instead of the mechanics inside it,” she retorted.

      “You’re testy for a concert goer,” he returned. He smiled, and it wasn’t sarcastic. “You like Debussy, do you?”

      “Yes.”

      “Who else?”

      She was taken aback by the question. “I like Resphigi, Rachmaninoff, Haydn and some modern composers like the late Basil Poledouris and Jerry Goldsmith. I also like James Horner, Danny Elfman, Harry Gregson-Williams and James Newton Howard.”

      He eyed her curiously. “I thought a country girl like you would prefer fiddles to violins.”

      “Well, even here in Outer Cowpasture, we know what culture is,” she countered.

      He chuckled deeply. “I stand corrected. What came in?” he asked, nodding toward the books she was carrying.

      She handed the bag to him. He looked over the titles, nodding and pulled a check out of his pocket, handing it to her.

      “Is it serious?” he asked abruptly.

      She just stared at him. “Is what serious?”

      “You and the cowboy at the concert. What’s his name, Fowler?”

      “Harley Fowler. We’re friends.”

      “Just friends?”

      “Listen, I’ve already been asked that question nine times this week. Just because I go out with a man, it doesn’t mean I’m ready to have his children.”

      Something touched his eyes and made them cold.

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