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as Andrea’s father, Buck, had probably already gone through his wallet, for he’d asked only what Sam’s intentions were.
    Rather than cause a problem, Sam had walked outside and explained quietly that Andrea had only made certain that he was all right. He admitted that he should have checked in at the police station in town, but it had been raining and he’d been tired. He’d said he was sorry if he’d caused any trouble.
    Finally the man looked up at him with squinted eyes and said, “All right, Sam Farley. Since you’re Mamie’s grandson, I’ll let it go—for now. But you’d better watch your step, or you’ll end up in jail.”
    Buck Fleming couldn’t have known how effective the threat had been. Jail? He’d been down that road before. No way was Sam Farley going tojail over a wish to see his grandmother’s house or the overwhelming desire to hold Andrea Fleming in his arms.
    He’d decided he’d leave, but he’d found himself delaying his departure. Only at this moment did he admit it was because he’d hoped she would return. Now she was standing at his door, her wide eyes a dark blue in the shadows. She’d visited him this morning out of friendship, nothing more.
    Sam had the feeling that if he did what he wanted and kissed her again, she’d arrest him, apologizing in her slow, sensual drawl all the way to town.
    He liked to hear her speak. The honeyed tones of her voice made him think of sunshine and cornfields. He’d heard another voice like that long ago, a voice that had painted comforting pictures of a white house and a swing, in a town where everybody was worth knowing. Unconsciously he’d been searching for that voice. Now that he’d found it, what he was feeling scared the hell out of him. Abruptly Sam unlatched the screen. “Come in. I’ve never had the future governor’s wife come to call.”
    Future governor’s wife! Buck! She was going to have to talk to her father about that boast. Andrea was embarassed and a little uneasy. She didn’t like that. In Arcadia everybody was as at-home in a neighbor’s house as they were in their own.
    Andrea’s first inclination was to tell Sam that she hadn’t accepted anybody’s proposal. Ed Pinyon was her father’s choice—not hers. But she didn’t. Her personal life was … personal. Her business with him was just that—business.
    She realized that she’d been staring at him in silence for a long moment. The skeptical lift of his eyebrow and the crinkling of the corners of his mouth signaled the fact that he recognized her confusion. Andrea blushed. He was getting to her again, without even trying. His chin was covered with an even heavier stubble now, stubble that would soon be a luxurious beard covering a face that was lined from being outdoors a lot. His smile was full now as he waited for her decision.
    “No thanks. If you’re not interested in my help, I’ll be on my way. But I’ll need that identification, sooner or later.”
    He knew he’d been testing her. Subtly, without being aware, he’d allowed himself to slip from behind the wall of impersonal banter he’d learned to erect between himself and the women he met along the way. Suddenly he wanted to know this woman. He didn’t want her to go.
    “Wait, there is one thing you can help with,” he said slowly. “My grandmother managed to live here without a shower, and there doesn’t seem to be any water. I’d like to take a bath. Have any suggestions?”
    Andrea considered her answer. She could tell him of the pool up the hill beyond the trees. Miss Mamie had shared it with her once. “Jed damned it up for Millie,” Miss Mamie had said, the only time she’d ever mentioned the daughter who’d run away. But Andrea didn’t feel right about sharing that information—not yet. If Sam found it, then it was his.
    Instead she answered his question. “If you look around, I think you’ll find a galvanized washtubsomewhere in the barn, Sam. I’d fill it with water from