had sent her these hibiscus had either made a lucky guess or was paying attention. Karen was so partial to the flowers that, in high school, she’d had a shirt covered with their likeness. She’d worn it so often it had become faded and torn. Sometimes, if she were going to a party, she’d tuck a hibiscus behind one ear.
A white card leaned against the base of the vase. Karen slowly walked toward it, daring to hope that Gray DeBerg had paid attention. Not able to stand the suspense any longer, she snatched the card and tore open the card.
I forgive you for the slap .
Karen pictured the sexy half-grin Tyler Shaw had worn at the Dew Drop Inn when he’d arrogantly told her they were going to be lovers. She saw red an even deeper shade than the flowers.
She extended her arm and swept the vase off her desk, jumping backward when it crashed to the floor in a mess of water, broken glass and flame-red color.
For a moment, she stood there, staring at what she’d done. The flowers, which had looked so beautiful on her desk, appeared sad and forlorn against the backdrop of the floor. Flowers so lovely hadn’t deserved so ugly a fate. Regret quickly replaced the anger.
"Damn you, Tyler," she muttered, walking around her desk and pulling out a vase she kept in one of the drawers. Carrying the vase in one hand, she dragged the wastebasket across the floor with the other, and got down on her hands and knees. She lowered her voice to a whisper. "You’ve got a hell of a nerve sending me flowers after telling me you'll fix the mess I've made of my life. It hasn’t even occurred to you that nobody can fix it. If you were here, I’d slap your insolent face again."
The three raps that sounded against the door were so soft Karen wasn’t sure she’d heard them. The employees with desks close to her office had probably heard the vase crashing to the floor, but they were well enough versed in her moods to know when to leave her alone.
She turned her head, half-convinced she’d imagined the knocking, and saw the woman who had left the newspaper the night before with Gray and his father. The woman she suspected had kept Gray from following through on his plan to meet Tyler at the Dew Drop Inn, thus keeping Gray from her.
A new surge of pique washed over her.
"What do you want?" she snapped.
The other woman’s question was hesitant. "Are you Karen Rhett?"
"That’s what it says on the door, doesn’t it?"
The woman licked her lips and swallowed, venturing a step into the office. "I’m Cara Donnelly," she said.
Karen stared at her, wondering why the woman thought supplying her name would explain what she was doing at her door. She had to admit, reluctantly, that the other woman was even prettier up close. Not that she did much with her looks. Makeup could have enhanced her dewy complexion and big brown eyes. Her clothes, too, were wrong. She would have looked great in pastels. The nondescript summer dress that hung on her figure like a sack was a washed-out beige.
"So what?" Karen challenged, ignoring the twinge of conscience that told her Cara Donnelly didn’t deserve to be treated this way. "Is your name supposed to mean something to me?"
"We have an appointment." She glanced at her watch and then back down at Karen. "At two o’clock?"
"What appointment?" Karen asked even as she remembered a hesitant voice on the phone that morning asking if she could spare some time that afternoon. If she had known it belonged to this woman, she would have refused. "Never mind. I remember now. I just don’t remember what you wanted to talk about."
"The newspaper. I’m doing a story on small-town newspapers," she supplied, stepping farther into the room. "Since your family owns the Sun, I’d like to talk to you."
"Sorry to disappoint you," Karen said, although she wasn’t, "but, as you can see, this isn’t a good time. I’m in the middle of something."
Instead of retreating, the woman crouched down and picked up a hibiscus with
A white card leaned against the base of the vase. Karen slowly walked toward it, daring to hope that Gray DeBerg had paid attention. Not able to stand the suspense any longer, she snatched the card and tore open the card.
I forgive you for the slap .
Karen pictured the sexy half-grin Tyler Shaw had worn at the Dew Drop Inn when he’d arrogantly told her they were going to be lovers. She saw red an even deeper shade than the flowers.
She extended her arm and swept the vase off her desk, jumping backward when it crashed to the floor in a mess of water, broken glass and flame-red color.
For a moment, she stood there, staring at what she’d done. The flowers, which had looked so beautiful on her desk, appeared sad and forlorn against the backdrop of the floor. Flowers so lovely hadn’t deserved so ugly a fate. Regret quickly replaced the anger.
"Damn you, Tyler," she muttered, walking around her desk and pulling out a vase she kept in one of the drawers. Carrying the vase in one hand, she dragged the wastebasket across the floor with the other, and got down on her hands and knees. She lowered her voice to a whisper. "You’ve got a hell of a nerve sending me flowers after telling me you'll fix the mess I've made of my life. It hasn’t even occurred to you that nobody can fix it. If you were here, I’d slap your insolent face again."
The three raps that sounded against the door were so soft Karen wasn’t sure she’d heard them. The employees with desks close to her office had probably heard the vase crashing to the floor, but they were well enough versed in her moods to know when to leave her alone.
She turned her head, half-convinced she’d imagined the knocking, and saw the woman who had left the newspaper the night before with Gray and his father. The woman she suspected had kept Gray from following through on his plan to meet Tyler at the Dew Drop Inn, thus keeping Gray from her.
A new surge of pique washed over her.
"What do you want?" she snapped.
The other woman’s question was hesitant. "Are you Karen Rhett?"
"That’s what it says on the door, doesn’t it?"
The woman licked her lips and swallowed, venturing a step into the office. "I’m Cara Donnelly," she said.
Karen stared at her, wondering why the woman thought supplying her name would explain what she was doing at her door. She had to admit, reluctantly, that the other woman was even prettier up close. Not that she did much with her looks. Makeup could have enhanced her dewy complexion and big brown eyes. Her clothes, too, were wrong. She would have looked great in pastels. The nondescript summer dress that hung on her figure like a sack was a washed-out beige.
"So what?" Karen challenged, ignoring the twinge of conscience that told her Cara Donnelly didn’t deserve to be treated this way. "Is your name supposed to mean something to me?"
"We have an appointment." She glanced at her watch and then back down at Karen. "At two o’clock?"
"What appointment?" Karen asked even as she remembered a hesitant voice on the phone that morning asking if she could spare some time that afternoon. If she had known it belonged to this woman, she would have refused. "Never mind. I remember now. I just don’t remember what you wanted to talk about."
"The newspaper. I’m doing a story on small-town newspapers," she supplied, stepping farther into the room. "Since your family owns the Sun, I’d like to talk to you."
"Sorry to disappoint you," Karen said, although she wasn’t, "but, as you can see, this isn’t a good time. I’m in the middle of something."
Instead of retreating, the woman crouched down and picked up a hibiscus with