The Best Is Yet to Come. Diana Palmer

“By the way, where is he?”

      “Shivering, I expect, and trying to make cherry crepes on an open hearth.” He sighed. “He’s making me a new dish for dinner.” He looked hunted. “Wouldn’t you like to invite me to dinner, and save me?”

      “Kim Sun is a wonderful cook!” Jean burst out.

      “When it comes to French pastry, maybe,” he muttered. “He’d gone through two pounds of flour when I left the house. I just asked him to fix me some eggs and he muttered something in Korean that I know I’d have fired him for, if I could have translated it.”

      “He makes marvelous pastry,” Ivy offered.

      “I can’t live on desserts. When I hired him, I didn’t know about this one fatal flaw—I didn’t know he could only cook desserts. He was a pastry chef, for God’s sake, he can’t even boil a damned potato!”

      “He spoils you rotten,” Jean reminded him.

      He glared at her. “He also has the world’s sharpest tongue and he treats me like dust under his shoes. I’m going to fire him!”

      “Oh, is that why you sent for his parents and got them a house to live in and...” Ivy began, amused.

      “You can shut up,” he enunciated curtly. He finished his coffee and got up. “I’ve got to go. He may have burned the house down by now.”

      “If you’d called us, we’d have had the gas company turn things on for you,” Jean said.

      “I thought about it, but I was in a big hurry to get home.” He bent to kiss Jean’s cheek. “Thanks for breakfast.”

      “Anytime.”

      His pale eyes shot to Ivy, lingering on her face. “Walk me to the door, Ivy,” he invited.

      She got up, too, sticking her hands into her pockets. “Poor soul, he can’t find his own way out.” She shook her head. “What do you do when you’re in the city, hire a man to point?”

      He glanced at her. “I got the distinct impression earlier that you’d be delighted to show me to the door,” he said softly.

      She flushed. “You...you do come on pretty strong,” she said as they reached the hall, out of Jean’s earshot.

      “And if I didn’t?” he asked carelessly.

      “I like you just the way you are, Ryder,” she said with unconscious warmth, looking up.

      His jaw tautened at that softness in her lovely eyes. He had to drag his eyes away. “I worry about you,” he said tersely. “You can’t live in the past. You’ve got to start living again.”

      “I know. It’s the way he died...” She swallowed, folding her arms around her. “It’s going to take time to cope with it once and for all.”

      “I know that,” he sighed. His eyes went over her in soft sketches. “If what happened out here disturbed you,” he said suddenly, watching her color as he brought back his unorthodox greeting, “it’s been a long dry spell.”

      That she could believe, since he hadn’t noticed her in that way in years. She threw off the pain and managed a dry smile. “Long dry spell, my foot,” she scoffed. “What happened? Did your harem trip over their veils and break something?”

      “I don’t have a harem,” he remarked as they reached the front door. His pale eyes wandered slowly down her exquisite figure. “I’ve gone hungry for a long, long time,” he said in a different tone.

      She flushed, because the statement seemed to have an intimate connotation, but when he looked up, his eyes were dancing.

      “Beast!” she accused, hitting his broad chest playfully.

      “Beauty,” he replied.

      She started to speak and gave up. He was always one step ahead. “I give up,” she muttered. “It’s like arguing with a broom!”

      “I’m going down below Blakely to a farm equipment auction in the morning. Want to ride with me?”

      Of course she did, but she knew he only asked out of pity. He was an old family friend and he felt sorry for her. It only made her unrequited love for him more painful. “I have things to do here,” she hedged.

      “Tomorrow is Saturday,” he reminded her.

      “I know that.” She searched for excuses, but they ran through her mind like sand through a sieve. Her big black eyes lifted, dark with frustration.

      “All right,” he said. “No pressure. If you don’t want to come, I won’t hound you.”

      She relaxed visibly. “I’m sorry, Ryder...”

      “Of course. Another time, then.” He said it lightly, but he seemed brooding, preoccupied as he left.

      Later, when she mentioned the invitation to her mother, Jean was puzzled.

      “Why didn’t you want to go with him?” she asked her daughter.

      She didn’t want to have to explain that. She turned away. “It’s too soon,” she said. “Ben’s barely been dead six months.”

      “For heaven’s sake, Ryder isn’t asking you to sleep with him! He only wanted you to go for a ride. Honestly, Ivy, I don’t understand you! Ryder’s the best friend you have.”

      “Yes, I know,” Ivy said in anguish. And she thought, that’s the whole problem.

      Even though she’d refused to go with him to the auction, Ryder came by the house on his way. He was driving the farm’s four-wheel-drive this time, a big tan-and-brown pickup, and he was dressed in tan boots, tight jeans, and a chambray shirt that might have been tailor-made for him. A black Stetson was cocked over his pale eyes. Ivy stood at the back door and just stared at him, filling her empty heart with the sheer masculine perfection of him as he climbed out of the vehicle and strode lazily toward the porch.

      She was wearing a denim skirt and a long-sleeved white blouse with a patterned scarf carelessly knotted at her throat. She had on her boots, too, because she’d planned to go for a walk so that she wouldn’t brood over having turned down Ryder’s invitation. If she’d left five minutes earlier, she’d have missed him. She didn’t know whether to be sorry or glad.

      She opened the door as he came up the steps, noticing the way his eyes narrowed and skimmed lightly over her figure before they found their way to her own.

      “Ready?” he asked with a taunting smile.

      “I was going for a walk,” she began.

      “Jean, we’re gone!” he called to her mother.

      “Have fun!” Jean called back from her bedroom.

      “But, I’m not going with you,” Ivy began weakly.

      He swung her easily up in his hard arms, smiling at her consternation. “Yes, you are,” he said softly.

      He turned and walked out the door, his taut-muscled, fit body taking her weight as easily as if she were a sack of feathers.

      His chest was warm and hard against her breast, and she smelled the tangy cologne he wore and the faint scent of shaving cream on his face. He had lines beside his silvery eyes, and thick black lashes over them. His nose was slightly dented from a few free-for-alls in his younger days. But his mouth...she almost groaned aloud just looking at it. Wide and sensual, chiseled, with a thin upper lip and slightly fuller lower one over perfect white teeth. She wanted so badly to lift her face the fraction of an inch necessary to put her open mouth to his.

      The feverish need shocked her. She’d never wanted to kiss anyone else so badly, and she’d dreamed about it for years. But she had to remember that Ryder was only being kind. He didn’t feel that way about her, and the sooner she realized it, the better.

      Her