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a curious effect on him. He’duncovered a bed in the front room that overlooked the slope down to the road. Somehow he’d known it had been his mother’s room, and the questions had whirled round and round in his mind. Why had she run away from a town where people cared about each other? Why had she been so unhappy here?
    Finally he’d given up and returned to the parlor. He’d stretched out on the couch and dreamed of Andrea’s stormy blue eyes half closed in passion as he made love to her under the plum tree in the field beyond.
    Desire—that was an emotion he could understand. But this little side trip into his past had taken a wrong turn somewhere and had kept on going. He wasn’t sure where it was leading him.
    People like Andrea and Louise Roberts confused him. He didn’t mean anything to them, and he didn’t trust them. Why were they so hell-bent on making him feel as though they cared?
    “Look, I’m sorry, Sam. Outsiders always accuse us of being nosy, bossy, and even a little prideful. Here in Arcadia we do feel a responsibility for each other. I just came by to offer you a ride to the grocery store, if you still need food.”
    “So now you’re making me a neighbor, are you? Look, I know you mean well, but I’m not staying here. And I’ll manage by myself.”
    “Fine,” Andrea said, calling on every ounce of dignity she could muster. She didn’t even know why she’d offered. A drifter like Sam Farley couldn’t appreciate small-town caring anyway. “But there are a couple of official questions I have to ask you. Look, couldn’t you open the door? It’s hot out here in this sun.”
    “I don’t think so,” he said stiffly. “I don’t want soup, cookies, homemade preserves, or companionship.” He glanced down at the orange mug and sat it on the floor with a clatter. “And I don’t want to end up jailed by your vigilante committee.”
    “Vigilante committee? Has something happened out here this morning, Sam?” she asked in confusion.
    “Your friends expressed the opinion that I’d best not take advantage of a—” he looked at the ceiling, “how did they put it? A ‘sweet woman who’s taken on her daddy’s job.’ So call off your watchdogs.”
    “Who were these watchdogs?” Andrea’s look of bewilderment seemed genuine.
    “That character spitting fire on my doorstep awhile ago, the one with crutches.”
    “Buck? My father? How’d he get here?”
    “He came with Otis to protect your honor and make sure that I knew you were off-limits.”
    Andrea felt herself growing furious. So
that
was why Buck had taken the morning off. She should have known.
    “Don’t worry, cowboy, I’ll take care of it,” she promised grimly, rubbing her forehead. “I’m sorry. Sometimes … people here are too protective.”
    “Well, you can just tell them that they don’t have a thing to worry about. I’m not going to play footsie with the future governor’s wife.”
    Andrea held onto her rising temper until she could speak calmly. “ ‘Future governor’s wife’? Look, I’m sorry about those two. They were out of line.”
    Sam almost laughed. It wasn’t the vigilantes who disturbed him. He was already disturbed,and the woman standing in front of him was the reason.
    Andrea Fleming didn’t look like a future governor’s wife. She was tall, built like some kind of pioneer woman, with a slim waist, large breasts that rose and fell in evidence of her aggravation with him, and hips that would deliver children with ease. Her skin was tanned and glowed with the warmth of the sun. Her dark, rich hair had already begun to slide from the knot she’d pinned at the back of her neck. This time her blue eyes were shooting fire instead of lightning. She was controlled but very angry.
    Sam should tell her that Otis had returned the lost wallet with the identification and paperwork that proved he was Mamie’s grandson. He surmised that the stout, balding man on crutches who’d identified himself