Fortune Finds Florist Read online

  Sierra Carlton was the very last woman with whom he should be spending time.

  Yet here he was. Again. She was getting to be a bad habit that he couldn’t seem to control. Yet, the evenings that he and the girls didn’t spend here with Sierra and her daughter, Tyree, seemed strangely flat and incomplete now.

  He tried to think of her as his business partner, maybe even a friend. Instead he kept dreaming about putting his hands on her, laying his mouth against the long, graceful column of her throat.

  Oh, man. What was he doing? And why couldn’t he stop?

  Dear Reader,

  It’s that time of year again—when every woman’s thoughts turn to love—and we have all kinds of romantic gifts for you! We begin with the latest from reader favorite Allison Leigh, Secretly Married, in which she concludes her popular TURNABOUT miniseries. A woman who was sure she was divorced finds out there’s the little matter of her not-so-ex-husband’s signing the papers, so off she goes to Turnabout—the island that can turn your life around—to get her divorce. Or does she?

  Our gripping MERLYN COUNTY MIDWIVES miniseries continues with Gina Wilkins’s Countdown to Baby. A woman interested only in baby-making—or so she thinks—may be finding happily-ever-after and her little bundle of joy, with the town’s most eligible bachelor. LOGAN’S LEGACY, our new Silhouette continuity, is introduced in The Virgin’s Makeover by Judy Duarte, in which a plain-Jane adoptee is transformed in time to find her inner beauty…and, just possibly, her biological family. Look for the next installment in this series coming next month. Shirley Hailstock’s Love on Call tells the story of two secretive emergency-room doctors who find temptation—not to mention danger—in each other. In Down from the Mountain by Barbara Gale, two disabled people—a woman without sight, and a scarred man—nonetheless find each other a perfect match. And Arlene James continues THE RICHEST GALS IN TEXAS with Fortune Finds Florist. A sudden windfall turns complicated when a wealthy small-town florist forms a business relationship—for starters—with a younger man who has more than finance on his mind.

  So Happy Valentine’s Day, and don’t forget to join us next month, for six special romances, all from Silhouette Special Edition.

  Sincerely,

  Gail Chasan

  Senior Editor

  Fortune Finds Florist

  ARLENE JAMES

  Books by Arlene James

  Silhouette Special Edition

  Husband in the Making #776

  With Baby in Mind #869

  Child of Her Heart #964

  The Knight, the Waitress and the Toddler #1131

  Every Cowgirl’s Dream #1195

  Marrying an Older Man #1235

  Baby Boy Blessed #1285

  Her Secret Affair #1421

  His Private Nurse #1482

  ** Beautician Gets Million-Dollar Tip! #1589

  ** Fortune Finds Florist #1596

  Silhouette Books

  Fortune’s Children

  Single with Children

  The Fortunes of Texas

  Corporate Daddy

  Silhouette Romance

  City Girl #141

  No Easy Conquest #235

  Two of a Kind #253

  A Meeting of Hearts #327

  An Obvious Virtue #384

  Now or Never #404

  Reason Enough #421

  The Right Moves #446

  Strange Bedfellows #471

  The Private Garden #495

  The Boy Next Door #518

  Under a Desert Sky #559

  A Delicate Balance #578

  The Discerning Heart #614

  Dream of a Lifetime #661

  Finally Home #687

  A Perfect Gentleman #705

  Family Man #728

  A Man of His Word #770

  Tough Guy #806

  Gold Digger #830

  Palace City Prince #866

  * The Perfect Wedding #962

  * An Old-Fashioned Love #968

  * A Wife Worth Waiting For #974

  Mail-Order Brood #1024

  * The Rogue Who Came To Stay #1061

  * Most Wanted Dad #1144

  Desperately Seeking Daddy #1186

  * Falling for a Father of Four #1295

  A Bride To Honor #1330

  Mr. Right Next Door #1352

  Glass Slipper Bride #1379

  A Royal Masquerade #1432

  In Want of a Wife #1466

  The Mesmerizing Mr. Carlyle #1493

  So Dear to My Heart #1535

  The Man with the Money #1592

  ARLENE JAMES

  grew up in Oklahoma and has lived all over the South. In 1976 she married “the most romantic man in the world.” The author enjoys traveling with her husband, but writing has always been her chief pastime. Arlene is also the author of the inspirational titles Proud Spirit, A Wish for Always, Partners for Life and No Stranger to Love.

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter One

  Sam shined the toes of his boots on the backs of the legs of his starched, dark blue jeans and tugged at the open collar of his freshly ironed, maroon-plaid shirt. Smoothing the sides of the boxy cattleman’s coat that he wore for protection against the cold north wind, he sucked in one more deep breath. He was as ready as he was ever going to be.

  It felt odd preparing to talk business with a woman. Farming was usually a man’s province, but like he’d told the banker who’d put him onto this setup, “The times they were a-changing, and a wise man realized when he couldn’t stand against a tide.” Besides, he’d done his research, and Sam wasn’t as convinced of the folly of her plans as the bankers were. Farming flowers might be unusual in West Central Texas, but it was entirely possible, provided a man—or woman—had access to all the necessary resources. He did not, but neither did Sierra Carlton. Together…ah, now that was another proposition altogether, and one he’d come prepared to make. Couldn’t be all that different than talking his way into an equipment loan.

  Sam looked up at the crisp brick front of the Lorimer building. Like Sierra Carlton, Avis Lorimer was one of the famed Puma Springs heiresses. They, along with a third woman named Valerie Keene, had each inherited a cool million from an old man whom everyone around town had assumed was a pauper, including the old man’s nephew, Heston Witt, who just happened to be mayor, a position ripe for embarrassment when people learned he had pretty much gotten left out of the will. Heston’s nose had been out of joint since because of it, much to the amusement of most of the town, although that didn’t stop anyone from repeating the gossip he spouted.

  Sam didn’t have the foggiest idea what Valerie Keene had done with her money. All he knew about her was that she was rumored to have been quite the party girl before she married the town’s fire marshal.

  He’d heard worse about Avis Lorimer. Some said she was a home wrecker and possibly even a “widow-on-purpose,” but she’d stepped in and used her money to erect this fine new building on the Puma Springs town square after the old one had burned and left an ugly, gaping hole in the block.

  As for Sierra Carlton, it was rumored that she was the disinherited child of a wealthy Fort Worth businessman. Some said she was divorced, and some said she had never been married, though she had a daughter. Sam, however, was the last man to judge another. God knew
that he lived with his own enduring scandal.

  Sam pushed open the heavy glass door to the florist’s shop and stepped inside to the sound of muted chimes. Warmth and a wave of flowery perfume washed over him. He glanced around the large, attractively arrayed showroom. A moment later a short, heavy woman with a mannish haircut appeared from a doorway on the right. Assuming that she was Sierra Carlton, he introduced himself.

  “I’m Sam Jayce.”

  “Pleased to meet you, Mr. Jayce. I’m Bette Grouper. How can I help you?”

  “Oh. Uh, I have an appointment with Ms. Carlton.”

  The wide woman motioned to a flight of stairs on the left. “It’s at the front of the building. Just knock and go on in.”

  Feeling foolish, Sam nodded his thanks and moved to the staircase. He started climbing. About halfway up, he paused, wiped his palms on his thighs and checked his hair with both hands. He’d been cursed with a cowlick right in front, so he’d taken to spiking his short, thick hair, not that it needed much help to stand up on end. Frowning, he dropped his hands and took the remainder of the stairs two at a time, keenly aware that if he’d been meeting with a man he’d have just worn a cap and said to hell with it. Dealing with females—adult females, anyway—always changed the equation, and that woman downstairs had unnerved him. For a moment he’d thought he was going to be doing business with someone who put him in mind of his grandma. That could still happen.

  At the top of the stairs he turned left, toward the front of the building and strode down the hall to the last door. Rapping sharply, he put his hand on the knob, but felt himself freeze. The old girl downstairs had said to just go on in, but before he could convince himself to do that, the door swung open and a tall, leggy redhead in a short khaki skirt and a tan silk blouse with the collar turned up stuck out her hand.

  “Samuel Jayce, I assume.”

  For a moment, Sam couldn’t quite find his tongue. This woman definitely did not put him in mind of his granny. What she put him in mind of was a million bucks, and with just that one look he felt like the lowliest plowboy in the county. Why hadn’t he worn a suit? Maybe because he didn’t own one. Duh. Sure enough, though, he should’ve worn something other than jeans. Well, it was too late for that now. Shaking himself, he belatedly clasped her hand. It felt long and smooth and delicate in his own much rougher one.

  Only a few inches shorter than his own six feet, she had long, slender arms and legs and a neat little waist that called attention to the thrust of her high, firm breasts, while the graceful length of her neck led the eye upward to her face. Though a little square, the symmetry of her high cheekbones and the crisp line of her jaw, accentuated by the stubborn thrust of her chin, nevertheless struck Sam as amazingly feminine. She had a perfect nose, very delicately arched brows a couple shades darker than her bright, curly, upswept hair and big, round eyes of green hazel spoked with a soft blue. Her mouth was neither too full nor too thin, elegantly shaped and painted the same shiny pinkish-orange as her short, oval fingernails, like strawberries mixed with crushed coral. Her skin, a pale, flawless gold, literally shined with health and vigor.

  By appearance alone, Sam would have put her at about his own age of twenty-four, but the cool perfection of her makeup and the graceful assurance with which she handled herself pegged her as older. Sharp interest, accompanied by an equally sharp sense of disappointment, momentarily blindsided him.

  “Just call me Sam,” he managed with what he feared was a frown and added too late, “ma’am.”

  Her mouth quirked at that, but she merely beckoned him into the office with a movement of her head. He let go of her hand, realizing suddenly that he’d held it too long, and tried not to gulp as he followed her through what looked like a sitting area furnished with castoffs which were probably in reality expensive antiques, not that he’d know a genuine collectible from fire kindling.

  “You can leave your coat on the chair there,” she said, turning in to an inner room. He shucked his coat, draped it over the back of a threadbare easy chair and walked into the other room. Pale wood file cabinets topped with an array of potted plants lined one rust-colored wall, and two tweedy, upholstered chairs stood before a sleek modern desk set at an angle to the front window. A bright floral carpet covered the floor and pale green curtains looped and draped about the windows. The executive leather chair behind the pale desk carried the cool green from the windows into the room.

  Sierra Carlton performed a smooth little pirouette on the pointed toe of one high-heeled, tan leather shoe and walked behind the desk, dropping down into that high-backed chair. She couldn’t have framed herself more perfectly. The contrast of that vibrant hair against the calm green was breathtaking.

  “Won’t you have a seat, Sam?”

  “Thank you.” He stepped in front of an armchair and sat, trying not to be dazzled by the bright, vibrant woman across the desk. Telling himself that it was time to take charge of this situation, he leaned forward slightly, elbows resting on the arms of the chair. “Ms. Carlton, I’m told—”

  She lifted a slender hand, halting the flow of his words. “Sierra, please. Only seems fair if you’re going to insist that I call you Sam.”

  Nodding, he got back to business. “I’m told, uh, Sierra, that you’re planning to farm flowers on that hundred and sixty acres you bought northwest of town.”

  She stiffened, pulling her shoulders back. His gaze fell instantly to the thrust of her breasts, and suddenly he had a problem of a different sort.

  “What of it?” she demanded.

  Jerking his gaze back up to her face, he willed himself to relax and lay out his cards. “Well, it’s like this. You’re wanting to do some farming, and I’m a farmer. Custom farming, it’s called. See, usually I hire out to the landowner to perform any or all of the farming disciplines from field prep to harvest. I have a full line of equipment, ample experience and I’ve been reading up on flower crops. Once I get a good look at your property I’ll be able to devise a planting program.”

  “A planting program,” she echoed.

  He spread his hands, warming to his subject. “Yeah, see, farming is organized, high-tech business now. We’re still dependent on Mother Nature, but we don’t leave any more to chance than we must. Now, most farming around here is being done on established fields, but that’s ranch land you’re sitting on out there, which isn’t to say that it can’t be farmed, because I believe it can, but it’s going to take a lot of soil preparation and hard work.”

  She sat back, picked up an ink pen and began turning it end over end with her fingers. “I hope you’ll pardon me for saying so, but you seem awful young for this.”

  “Yes, ma’am. Twenty-four last month, but I have a degree in agriculture from Texas A&M and plenty of personal references.” He fished a folded sheet of paper from his shirt pocket and began unfolding it. “I’ve been in business for myself nearly four years, and I first hired out as a farmhand at fourteen, so I have nearly ten years experience.”

  She took the sheet of paper that he offered her and looked it over. “There are addresses here from Longview to El Paso. You’ve been around some.”

  “From the Piney Woods to the Rio Grande and the Red River to the Gulf of Mexico, but I’ve got to say as far as farming, this is the place to be. No other reason I’d come back here.”

  She blinked at that, and he realized with a sudden flush of heat that he’d said too much. Trying desperately to deflect her attention, he stumbled on.

  “That and my baby sisters. Kim and Keli, they’re seven. Twins. I understand you’ve got a little girl, too.”

  Sierra Carlton smiled and laid aside the sheet of references. “Yes. Tyree. She’s eight, going on nine, as she’d be quick to remind me.”

  He nodded, praying he’d found ground common enough to allay any hint of doubt he might have inadvertently stirred. “Maybe they know each other, our girls.”

  “Could be. I’ll ask Tyree.”

  He resisted the urge to swi
pe a hand over his face and instead tried to steer the subject back to business. “So, what do you think? Are you interested in taking me on? I’m convinced we could pull a profit at this if we go about it right.”

  She tapped the capped ink pen against her chin, eyes narrowed in thought. “May I ask how you became aware of my intentions, Sam?”

  He shifted uncomfortably. “Well, I heard about it down at the bank. Mr. Ontario’s been real good to me. Gave me my first loan so I could buy equipment, helped me pay for it by referring me for work, and just recently we’ve established a line of credit for me so I can expand.”

  A bright smile lit her face. “Mr. Ontario told you about my plans? Frankly, I didn’t think he approved.”

  That smile had the power to dazzle, and for a moment Sam was tempted to foster it, but one thing Sam believed in wholeheartedly was honesty, especially when it came to business dealings. He cleared his throat. “Um, well, to be honest, ma’am, he didn’t exactly tell me what you were planning. I sort of, like, overheard him talking about it to someone else.”

  That amazing smile dimmed. “Oh?”

  Sam shifted in his chair once more. “Yes, ma’am. I was sitting in his office when some fellow named Dinsmore called. I’m sure Mr. Ontario didn’t mean to be indiscreet, but I couldn’t help overhearing what was being said.”

  Disappointment stamped all over what remained of that smile. “I see.”