From Texas, With Love. Cathy Thacker Gillen

he replied, “I do. You’re an advertising whiz. I have a charter jet service in need of a new ad campaign.” He paused to let those two facts sink in. “Think you could put something together for me in a week, between wedding activities?”

      Samantha tamped down the immediate spark of excitement she felt. “You’re serious.” She pretended she wasn’t dying for some work.

      “Damn right I am,” he said with an enticing smile.

      She dragged her eyes away from the tempting corners of his mouth, affected her best bored tone. “I guess I could do that for you,” she responded, with the same lazy insouciance he was now displaying. “On one condition.” She looked deep into his McCabe-blue eyes and paused to let her words sink in. “I want my own bed to sleep in tonight.” When that demand looked as if it might be met, she added crisply, “And some sort of comfortable chair to sit in. Plus I’ll need access to a desk, your computer and office supplies.”

      Will responded with a nod and another enigmatic smile. “I’ll take care of it right away.”

      FOUR HOURS LATER, Will had finished making up the flight schedule for the rest of the week and e-mailed it to all his pilots. He kicked back in his desk chair and folded his hands behind his head.

      Samantha strolled in, sunglasses on top of her head. To his surprise, she seemed to get more beautiful every time he laid eyes on her. Why that was so, he couldn’t figure out. She was wearing the same sophisticated black clothing that marked her as a city slicker and covered up way too much of her lovely curves. And it wasn’t as if she had done anything different to her hair. The thick glossy waves fell unencumbered to her shoulders. She had the same deft touch with makeup. Not that she seemed to use much, from what he had seen. Her eyes were exceptionally captivating in an already gorgeous face—maybe because they seemed wiser than her years. And those lips, Will noted with no small amount of desire, were so soft and luscious looking he was surprised he hadn’t figured out a way to kiss them yet.

      Not that he couldn’t have put the moves on her, had he been so inclined.

      He just hadn’t wanted to scare her away. Hadn’t wanted to risk staking a claim Samantha wasn’t ready for. But when she was, he decided, he was definitely going to give it his all. And hope she gave it everything she had, too.

      In the meantime, he noticed that she had definitely taken his advice and treated herself. She carried several shopping bags bearing the logos of local boutiques.

      Obviously unaware of how his libido amplified at just the sight of her, she dumped the bags in a corner of the room and dropped down in the chair in front of him. The pressure at the front of his jeans increased as she pulled a leather-bound notepad from the oversize leather carryall that passed as her purse.

      “Let’s get down to business. Show me what you’ve got.”

      Irked by her deliberate lack of pleasantries, Will gave her a leisurely once-over meant to get under her skin. Taking his bad behavior a step further, he touched his belt buckle and waggled his brows. “Good thing I know you don’t mean that the way it sounds,” he drawled.

      Behaving as if he hadn’t spoken, she offered a tight, officious smile. “If you want me to design an ad campaign,” she told him, “I need to review the advertisements you’ve been running to date.”

      Impressed by her composure in the wake of his goading, Will opened his center desk drawer and pulled out a thin file folder. He pushed it across his desk. “Here it is.”

      She snapped it up, then tapped the end of her pen against her lower lip. “I also need current data on your business. Number of planes, pilots, safety record, locations where you fly.”

      He struggled to keep his mind on business. He should not be thinking about kissing her. “It’s all in there, too,” he said. “Look on the last page.”

      For the next few minutes she perused the file, a thoughtful expression on her face. “You are efficient,” she said at last.

      Maybe it was ego, but he wanted her to appreciate his accomplishments. “Surprised?” he taunted.

      She closed the file with a sigh and looked at him. “Only by the pedestrian nature of this newspaper ad you’ve been running for your company to date. Who designed it, if you don’t mind my asking?”

      It was hard to be so cocky now. “Me.”

      She winced slightly, then sat back and recrossed her legs at the knee.

      “You don’t like it,” Will stated, disappointed yet aware she had a point. The latest advertisement hadn’t proved very effective in drumming up new business.

      Samantha made a seesawing motion with her hand. “Let’s just say I think it could be a little more inspired. Not to worry. We’ll get there.”

      Will was sure they would, if Samantha was in the driver’s seat. “I like the sound of that.” Liked even better the notion that before the day was over he was going to find a way to get her in his arms and kiss her, at least once.

      As if noticing the way he was staring at her, Samantha frowned. Before she could ask about it, however, footsteps sounded on the concrete floor outside Will’s office.

      Oscar Gentry, one of Will’s favorite high school teachers, walked in. At age sixty-five, the silver-haired retiree with the kind eyes remained physically fit and well-groomed. But there was an air of desolation about him that Will had never seen before.

      Concerned at what could have happened since the last time they’d talked, and hoping he could help the older man the way he’d once helped him, Will pushed himself to his feet and Will came around the desk. “Hi, Mr. Gentry.”

      “Hello, Will.” The man’s handshake lacked its usual vigor.

      Will touched Samantha’s shoulder. “This is Samantha Holmes, Howard’s sister.”

      The distressed look never completely leaving his eyes, Mr. Gentry took Samantha’s hand, too. “Here for the wedding?” he asked politely.

      She nodded.

      “She’s also going to devise a new ad campaign for my company,” Will added.

      Mr. Gentry frowned. “I guess I should have called first. I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

      “It’s okay.” Will gestured for them all to sit down, then settled behind his desk. “What’s up?”

      Mr. Gentry adjusted his glasses on his nose. “I took your advice, Will. It didn’t work.”

      Samantha started to rise, sensing that this was a personal matter. “Perhaps I should go.”

      “Actually—” Mr. Gentry waved his hand, indicating she should stay right where she was “—I could use a woman’s perspective.” He pressed his lips together ruefully. “Not that what’s going on in my life right now is a big secret, anyway.”

      Figuring it would be easier for him to explain, Will stated, “Mr. Gentry’s wife kicked him out.”

      The older man ran his hands over his knees. “Yvonne changed the locks on me and everything.”

      Samantha blinked. “Why?” she asked.

      “It’s the darnedest thing.” He heaved a sigh. “I don’t know. I went fishing, just like I do every Saturday morning, and came home to find all the locks were changed, my suitcases packed and on the front porch.”

      “Had you been fishing a lot?” she asked.

      Mr. Gentry shook his head. “No more than usual. Once a week.”

      “And she never minded before?”

      He sighed again. “She said she liked having the time to herself.”

      Will tapped his pen on the arm of his chair. He looked at Samantha, noting her compassionate expression. “Mr. and Mrs. Gentry’s fortieth