A Love to Call Her Own by Marilyn Pappano Read Free Book Online

sweet fragrance of flowers filling the air. A little conversation, an ill-advised invitation, and a much-needed distraction on a tough day. She had suggested a beer and a burger at Bubba’s and he’d agreed. She’d made the drive to the bar knowing she would drink too much, get too bold, wind up in bed with him, then regret it forever, but she’d gone anyway. At that moment, filling the emptiness inside her, even just for a while, had seemed worth the shame and disgust that would follow. She knew the pattern; she’d gone through it countless times before.
    But Dalton Smith had disrupted the pattern. Unlike the men before him, he hadn’t been anonymous. He hadn’t disappeared from her life as abruptly as he’d entered it. She’d seen him again, and again, and she’d felt…something.
    Jessy was afraid of feeling that something.
    He studied her much the way the cow across the road had—brown eyes, impassive expression, no sign of interest—except little lines crinkled the corners of his eyes, and his fingers were tightening around the steering wheel. He hadn’t expected to see her out this way, and it wasn’t a pleasant surprise. He didn’t think much of her—only fair since she didn’t think much of herself.
    The dust settled as he looked at her and she looked back. Fighting the urge to move—fleeing to her car seemed a good idea—she waited for him to speak, remembered he could be very slow about that, and blurted out the first words that bypassed her brain and reached her mouth. “Why are those irises growing like that?”
    His gaze shifted from her to the flowers in the field, then back again. “This is the old Jefferson place. A tornado took it out about twenty years ago, but left the irises in the front flower beds.”
    She looked at the flowers again, imagining a snug little house behind them, white with a broad porch, maybe a swing, and curtains fluttering in the breeze. A home destroyed in a matter of seconds, lives changed. Her own familiarity with instant disaster sent a shudder through her and led to her next inane question. “How many tornadoes have you seen?”
    â€œNone.” The corner of his mouth quirked. “The Smith family knows how to take shelter.”
    â€œI don’t know where I’d take shelter. I live downtown, second floor of the Berry Building.” Lord, she was babbling now. This was no conversation to be having with a man who’d seen her at her worst in their first-ever encounter and hadn’t been impressed in their subsequent meetings.
    â€œThat building has a basement. Underground is always good.”
    â€œAnd maybe wind up with the entire building collapsed on top of you?”
    His mouth quirked again. A person who didn’t know better could be forgiven for mistaking it for a smile trying to get free. “Better than getting blown away at two hundred miles an hour.” After a moment, he added, “In a corner or under the stairway.”
    â€œI’ll keep that in mind.” Her rent included a storage area in the basement, so she had access. She just had trouble picturing herself down there in the middle of an unholy storm with no lights, probably no cell phone service, and who knew what kind of little skittering, slithering creatures. Her bedroom closet, though not as safe, was clean and comfy, and if she did get blown away, at least it would be with her cameras and her shoes.
    They just looked at each other for another moment. She’d never been the sort to find herself at a loss for words, especially with men, but that was exactly where she was now. They’d already discussed weather—how lame was that? If he would just go on his way…
    He nodded in her direction. “What are you hiding there?”
    She blinked before remembering the camera. She held it up, then lowered both arms to her sides. She’d been more comfortable, she