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and completely impersonal and scientific.”

      Wanda gasped. “My word, would you like to live in a world where machines tell you whom to love?”

      “Well, no, but—”

      Cody cut in. He looked as incensed as Wanda did. “And in a world where people are trotted in and out of the video arena like cows in a sale ring?”

      “Well, no, but—” Emily cut herself off this time. If Terry was looking for a real up-to-date piece on computer dating, the Yellow Rose apparently wasn’t going to be it. On the other hand, his research had already supported Wanda’s claim that the Rose had the best success rate of any agency in Texas: That’s why he’d been so delighted Emily had been temporarily transferred here. “I stand corrected,” she said. “I was just surprised, that’s all.”

      “Well, I guess.” Wanda looked mollified. “Now that we understand each other, folks, I think it’s time for y’all to fill out our scientific in-depth questionnaire ” She rummaged in the top left drawer of the desk as she spoke, then the drawer on the right. “The information you give will be held in the strictest confidence, to be shared only when the match is made. We’re just trying to establish compatibility characteristics between you and your perfect match. That’s what we’re after—perfection. If not the next best thing... Ah, here it is.”

      She pulled a handful of papers from the drawer and spread them on the desk in an untidy pile, then began pulling out a sheet here, two sheets there, rejecting some, accepting others, putting them together in various stacks.

      Emily glanced at Cody and caught him glancing at her. They both looked away quickly. Again, she asked herself why a man who looked like this one had to go to a dating agency to find a woman. All he had to do was walk down the street and they’d follow him home in droves.

      “Here we go.” Wanda offered one pile of papers to each of them, followed by two yellow ballpoint pens bearing a line drawing of a rose. “Now, the two of you can make yourselves comfortable at the conference table.” She indicated the table set before three tall windows in the converted Victorian. Glass panes swathed in lace turned muted light and shadow into romantic patterns.

      Emily’s discomfort returned in a rush. Did she really want to sit across from this man and tell lies, even if only on paper? But Cody was rising obediently while Wanda beamed approval. Emily didn’t feel she had any choice but to follow him across the room and sink down in the chair he held for her.

      And try to conceal her pleasure that some men still followed the old amenities with such perfect assurance.

      Cody stared down at the form on the table before him, trying to concentrate. The first part, at least, was easy: Cody James, 30, male, cowboy. Well, he was a cowboy, he thought, easing his conscience. Income. He was ready for this one. No way would he tell the truth. Carefully, he wrote, “Enough to get by on with enough left over for a wife and kids, if they’re not too extravagant.”

      That worked.

      He read the next inquiry. Build. He stifled a smile. Yeah, he built—he’d helped build the hay shed on the Flying J a couple of months ago but he didn’t figure that’s what they wanted to know.

      Dumb question. He’d skip it.

      His impatient glance shifted just a tad too much and he found himself looking across the table at Emily Kirkwood. She was bent over the forms with total concentration, and he saw her straight white teeth tugging at that full lower lip. Made his mouth water, just watching.

      Too bad about her. He’d liked her right away but he would never get involved with another drop-dead beautiful woman as long as he lived. Unfortunately, Emily was beautiful. Gritting his teeth, he went back to the form. Marital Status: divorced. Children: “No, but I sure want some,” he wrote.

      Then he came to Type of Residence and stopped again. In actual fact, he lived in the big main ranch house at the Flying J with a whole passel of other Jameses but he sure didn’t want that known at this early stage of the game. If he was going to find a woman more interested in him than how many cows and buffalo and acres his family owned, some things were better left unsaid. He wrote, “House,” and let it go at that.

      Pets. That was easy enough. Dogs, a buffalo. Under Favorite Animals, though, he chose horses; Least Favorite, cats. Favorite Sport was rodeo; Favorite Nonsporting Activity was watching rodeo and Favorite Food was Tex-Mex.

      He heaved a sigh of relief; so far so good. He glanced up again, well pleased with himself. His gaze locked with that of the beautiful brown-eyed blonde sitting across from him. For a moment, he forgot all about the vow made on the heels of his divorce.

      No more beautiful women. You just couldn’t trust ’em.

      With her gaze locked with Cody’s, Emily forgot to breathe. Surely it wasn’t just his good looks, she thought, a little panicky at the way he made her feel. He’d seemed like a very nice man while the three of them were getting acquainted a few minutes earlier.

      She gave him a quick, tentative smile and looked back down at her questionnaire. In Dallas she’d filled out the personal information form with unerring accuracy and gotten a lemon. This time she saw no reason to bare her soul.

      Next item, Children. She wrote, “Goodness, no!” Actually, she liked children, and if she ever married, she’d certainly want them, but that was years and years in the future. No need to go into any of that. Pets. Cats, of course; she had two back in the apartment she shared with her old friend, Laurie Billingsley. Least Favorite Animal gave her pause for thought since she really liked most animals. Finally, she wrote, “Anything big.”

      Favorite Nonsporting Activity. If she was being honest, the answer to that would be reading. But who would be interested in a woman who’d give that kind of response? She wrote, “Partying,” even though it was a barefaced lie. The answer to General Interests/ Hobbies would, in actual fact, be volunteer work. She’d taught children to read back in Dallas and would do so again when she returned. But since truth was not required, she wrote, “Shopping!!” with two exclamation points and an S with curlicues.

      Her Favorite Food was macaroni and cheese, but she wrote, “Vegetarian,” because it seemed more sophisticated. Under A Perfect Date Would Be, she wrote, “Dinner in a four-star restaurant and dancing,” when the truth was closer to “A romantic movie at home before a roaring fire and with a bottle of wine.”

      Ideal Vacation? “A Caribbean cruise,” she wrote extravagantly, even knowing she’d be happier in a cabin in the mountains. Ideal Partner Would Be...?

      This stopped her cold. She couldn’t write, “Poor but honest and loving,” which was the truth although she didn’t suppose anyone would believe it. So she wrote, “Sophisticated, wealthy, handsome man-about-town.” And tried not to lift her gaze to the man seated across from her, a man who certainly appeared to be “poor but honest and loving”—and so handsome that her pulse quickened just looking at him.

      She was not here to find a husband, or even a serious relationship! She was here to pay a debt of honor. She lowered her head and forced herself to stare at the next question. What I’m seeking in a relationship.

      Nothing. She wasn’t seeking a darn thing. And once she finished this questionnaire and got away from the appealing Cody James, it wouldn’t be so hard to remember that. But since she had to write something, she wrote, “Fun and games!” in great big letters.

      No more computer geeks for her!

      Ideal Partner Would Be...?

      Cody frowned at his questionnaire, wishing he could come up with an easy answer. He wasn’t sure what his ideal partner would be but he sure knew what she wouldn’t be.

      She wouldn’t be like Jessica.

      The thought of his ex-wife sent a familiar shaft of irritation through him. She’d said all the right things—until she had him roped and tied. Then all of a sudden, she didn’t want children, she didn’t want a boring life on a ranch and, eventually,

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