From Texas, With Love

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 wedding anniversary is next Sunday. They had a big party planned. Mr. Gentry wants to make up with his wife before then.”

The man nodded. “Will told me to get her an apology card from the stationery store and take it to her.”

“Along with flowers and candy and her favorite perfume,” Will added. When Samantha frowned at him, as if that had been the wrong thing to do, he said defensively, “I figured he should cover all the bases.”

“Only it didn’t work,” Mr. Gentry continued, looking even more miserable. “Yvonne got mad when she read the card, and refused to accept any of my gifts.”

Behavior that made no sense at all, Will thought.

Samantha, however, seemed to think it was more a puzzle to be figured out than an unreasonable response. “And you have no idea why she behaved that way?”

“Yvonne said she needed a specific apology,” the former physics teacher revealed in an exasperated tone. “And I told her I can’t give her one because I don’t know what I’ve done to tick her off. And then she said that if I didn’t know what I’d done, she wasn’t going to tell me!’”

Will put his pen down. “I feel for you, pardner.”

“The question is—” Mr. Gentry took off his silver-rimmed glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose in dismay “—what next?”

“You’ve got to convince her you still love her,” Will replied.

“How, when she won’t even let me in the door?” he muttered.

Both men turned their gazes to Samantha, in want of feminine perspective.

She lifted her hands. “If you want your wife back, you’re going to have to wage an effective campaign to win her heart.”

Spoken like a true advertising executive, Will thought. Aware of how flawed her suggestion was, he chided, “Surely you’re not suggesting Mr. Gentry advertise to get his wife back!”

Samantha gave Will a censoring look. “There is nothing wrong with that. Advertising is nothing more than communicating sentiments and feelings—as well as facts.”

“Which is exactly what I need,” Mr. Gentry exclaimed, ready to grab any lifeline thrown his way. “So, would you help me figure out how to do that where Mrs. Gentry is concerned?” the older gentleman asked Samantha.

She dipped her head. “Sure, in an informal kind of way. But I’m going to need a little time to think about the best approach.”

Mr. Gentry thanked Samantha, told her where she could get in touch with him—at his fishing cabin on Lake Laramie, which unfortunately did not have a telephone—and left.

Will had wanted Samantha to become part of the Laramie community. He didn’t want her doing anything that could conceivably cause bad feelings toward her later, should she decide to stay.

“Should you really have promised Mr. Gentry that?” Will asked mildly as soon as he and Samantha were alone.

She looked uneasy. “What do you mean?”

“Don’t get me wrong.” He shifted in his chair, struggling not to hurt her feelings. “Ad campaigns are effective sales tools.”

“Yes,” Samantha replied, clearly not liking the direction the conversation was headed. “They are.”

Figuring this might go over better if the message was conveyed casually, Will moved around to sit on the front corner of his desk. “They are also often misleading in that they promise way more than can actually be delivered. I’d hate to see Mr. Gentry make his situation worse, which could happen if his wife thinks he is being the least bit superficial in his approach.” Will paused, then tried again. “If Mrs. Gentry didn’t like the card her husband got her…if that wasn’t personal or specific enough…I don’t see how any public campaign designed by a marketing professional could possibly provide a solution here.”

Samantha’s mouth quirked. “You don’t think I can get them back together?” she taunted, rising gracefully from her chair. “Is that it?”

Will ignored the dark wavy hair spilling across one breast and focused on her face. “I think you’re an amateur when it comes to decades-long marriages and relationships, yes. Just like I am,” he admitted.

Samantha scoffed. “That’s ridiculous,” she muttered. Lips pursed in irritation, she slipped her notepad and pen back in her carryall.

“Huh?”

“Just because I don’t have a boyfriend now doesn’t mean I don’t know what it would take for a guy to catch my eye.”

He lifted a challenging brow. “And all women are interested in the same things, I suppose?”

Her slender shoulders stiffened at his deliberate misinterpretation of her pronouncement. “I didn’t mean that and you know it, Will McCabe!”

Trying not to think how much he liked hearing her say his name, he slid off his desk to stand beside her. “Then what are you saying?” he asked, forcing himself not to think about what it would be like to hear her say his name—in ecstasy, not temper.

Oblivious to the lusty nature of his thoughts, she slid her carryall strap onto her shoulder and tucked the bag close to her side. “That I at least have some sensitivity in these matters.”

He caught the implied dig. “And I don’t—in your opinion?”

She merely smiled in a way that reminded him he had been the one who had given Mr. Gentry the poor advice.

“I know a lot about romance,” Will declared irritably.

“Yeah?” Samantha tipped her chin in challenge. “Prove it!”

Chapter Four

Samantha knew the moment the words were out of her mouth that she should never have thrown down the gauntlet.

Will gave her a slow, sexy smile. “Well, thank you, darlin’.” He drew her carryall down her arm and tossed it aside. “I think I will.”

She caught her breath and splayed her hands across the hard surface of his chest when he tugged her close. “I didn’t mean on me!”

Ignoring her protest, he slid his hands through her hair, cupping her head, then started dropping kisses at her temple, along the curve of her cheekbone, the shell of her ear. “Ah, but what better subject to pepper with my subtle expertise.”

He was enjoying this way too much—almost as much as she was. The air between them reverberated with excitement and escalating desire. Struggling to control her erratic breathing, Samantha decided that the only way to survive this would be by making light of the situation. Her cheeks burning, she retorted, “‘Pepper’ is right.”

“Lucky for you,” he whispered, holding her face steady when she tried to turn away. Then he rubbed his thumb across her lower lip, sensually tracing its shape. Eyes glinting mischievously, he brought her mouth up to his. “I like everything spicy—including my women.”

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