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“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.”
    â€œThat’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.”
    â€œYou have a safe trip.”
    â€œI’ll do my best. Take care.”
    â€œYou, 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
    S ara 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.”
    â€œMy watch is better than yours,” he countered.
    â€œI guess so, if you judge it by the amount of gold on the band instead of the mechanics inside it,” she retorted.
    â€œYou’re testy for a concert goer,” he returned. He smiled, and it wasn’t sarcastic. “You like Debussy, do you?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œWho 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.”
    â€œWell, 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.
    â€œIs it serious?” he asked abruptly.
    She just stared at him. “Is what serious?”
    â€œYou and the cowboy at the concert. What’s his name, Fowler?”
    â€œHarley Fowler. We’re friends.”
    â€œJust friends?”
    â€œListen, 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. His faintly friendly air went into eclipse. “Thanks for bringing the books out,” he said abruptly. He turned and went in the house without another word, closing the door firmly behind him.
    Sara went back to her car, dumbfounded. She couldn’t imagine what she’d said to make him turn off like a blown lightbulb.

    The next day she went to church and then treated herself to a nice lunch at Barbara’s Café in town. The ogre’s odd behavior had disturbed her. She couldn’t understand what she’d said to put that look on his lean face. She was upset because she didn’t understand. She wasn’t a woman who went around trying to hurt other people, even when they deserved it.
    After lunch, on an